The Precipice
by WinterWhirls
Summary: When a suspect apprehension goes horribly wrong, Elliot and Olivia find themselves trapped in the most dire of circumstances. Things only get worse when a life is set in the palms of death...
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Dick Wolf and NBC. As always, anything you recognize isn't mine.

A/N: I'm not sure how long this will be; I'm shooting for three chapters, maybe more. Anyways, this idea's been floating around in my brain for a while now, so I figured I'd write it down now instead of day dreaming about Elliot during exams. (Which are, by the by, in two weeks, and I don't think I've got any nails left to chew. Ah, well. I'll hope for the best.)

Oh, also, just so you know, a **bolded name **is the start of that person's point of view.

Set somewhere season six/seven. Please forgive spelling errors ;)

TIME: 02:47 Elliot I'm cold. I'm cold, I'm tired, and I'm starving. I've got no idea as to exactly how long I've been down here, only that it seems like it's been an eternity since shit hit the fan, a long, long time ago. The room is sombre; the light is muffled because the tiny window up above is so dusty I could write his name in it with my finger. I fear the hour when the sun will disappear leaving total darkness in its wake. Because it's bad enough not having anything to defend myself with. Being blind _and_ defenceless is marginally worse, in this case.

And to complicate things to an even larger degree, my partner is down here with me. My partner is trapped in this hellhole too, and it's entirely my fault.

Olivia hugs the wall as she paces, maybe looking for a weak spot in the cement, or maybe she's just restless from being in this enclosed space for so long. I know I should try to distract her, try to keep her entertained, but I'm irritable and she's pissed and we're both just so tired. If I try to make meaningless conversation, I know I'm walking on a fine line, and that she'll be waiting, circling like a shark when I trip and fall on my ass again. Because getting us stuck down here is just one more mistake to add to the long line of screw-ups I've treated us to these last couple weeks. Now I fear that if anything I say comes out wrong, she'll have me begging to die in less than a second. Like I said, she's really, really pissed off, and I can't say I blame her.

So, she paces and I pout in the basement, and we're like a couple of kids who find joy in giving each other the Silent Treatment. There's nothing pleasurable about fighting with Olivia, though, and even if I know we're being ridiculous, we've got more pressing matters on our hands that need to be taken care of immediately.

Like when this son of a bitch is going to come give us God damned food. It has been hours since his last visit, and I must say, I'd like to see his face just so I can pound it inward and get the fuck out of here. Or maybe I'm just through with sitting here looking at my partner try to find a way out, when it's obvious her efforts will go un-rewarded. There's no escape route. There's only the window, but it's too high to even think about, the chair in the corner. The rest is thick concrete and I'm sure as hell not _that_ strong.

I sigh loudly and she shoots me a glare.

I stand up, and walk over to her cautiously. I may be gambling with my life, but step one to getting out of here is getting her to cooperate with me.

"Liv, come on."

"What?" She turns to face me, and she still shifts her weight from foot to foot. And I was right, she's restless. She wants to run free; she wants to stretch her limbs and fly and breath clean air again. She's never been the one to stay in one place for too long.

"You know the only way out of here is through that door." Yeah, that steel door that looks like it's about as thick as it is high. The one that we have no chance of getting through until that bastard decides he wants to play with his new pets again. And who knows how long that'll be. He might not even be home, for Christ's sake, and we're down here, forgotten.

Olivia shrugs and turns to the wall again. I'm sick of watching her be this way. She's coiled, like she's ready to spring, and her pupils are very wide. I grasp her wrist, because I just want her to sit for a while. Calm down a bit.

"Elliot, please, I need to be sure." Her dark eyes meet mine, and I look away quickly, because I can't stand what I see there. I shake my head once, quickly, and proceed to move my arm around her waist, guiding her to the centre of the room. She wrenches her wrist from my light grip.

"Liv, sit."

"Don't tell me what to do."

She sits.

TIME: 06:12Olivia

Everything looks the same here. These walls are made of concrete blocks, and the bricks are a maze before my eyes. It looks like stairs, the way they form the zigzag patterns on the surface. And the stairs are everywhere. On every wall, left, right, up and down. I think I'm so hungry now that I'm not anymore. I can't even explain how that makes sense. It's just a numbing sensation throughout my torso; sometimes the pain comes in waves. Sometimes I feel nothing at all.

Elliot tried to talk to me. He made an effort to keep me busy, but eye spy really sucks down here. And there isn't much we can talk about without breeching subjects that are strictly forbidden. Anything personal is disbarred, left alone to simmer in the both of us, doing it's own thing while we fight to keep ignoring it. If acknowledged, it might swallow me whole. Even something as simple as "So, what'd you do this weekend?" is much to individual. We don't share things like that anymore. Hell, we don't even share forks or water. I have to actually think about when the last time he ate off my plate was. It makes me sad, and I wonder if sometimes he even thinks about being my friend anymore.

I wish things could go back to normal, back to before, when it was simple because he was married and completely off-limits. Now, he's not tied down. Now, it isn't a question of being an honest person, but of fighting what we have with every last kick in the gut. At least, that's how I'm going about it because I cannot let myself go to him. I won't loose him on the job. I'm pushing him away because if he gets any closer to my heart he'll melt down all my walls. And that can't happen. Ever.

Before, I kept having adrenaline surges. They got me completely wiped, but they also kept me warm. I'm only just starting to realize how horribly cold it is down here. Even the crappy central heating back in my apartment is ten times better than this. I slept for a good while, closing my eyes and succumbing to fatigue because even though I was scared, I knew Elliot would have my back. It must have been the cold that woke me.

Now, Elliot sleeps beside me, we've decided to take turns. My head keeps lulling and flopping unceremoniously forward onto my chest, but I fight it – trust is vital and I can't let Elliot down. I need to get us out of here, because the others don't even know we're gone. It was a sudden lead; no one was there so we just left. Without backup, without even leaving a note. Now I see the grave mistake we've made. I suggested we check it out, so now I need to get us out of here. Take responsibility for my actions. Take care of Elliot.

I get up off the floor and walk toward the door. Elliot's body has been resting against mine, seeking warmth in his slumber, and now he slides sideways onto the floor. Before he can hit it, I reach under him and rest my hands gently under his head to cushion his fall. He sleeps like a baby and doesn't even stir. I'm glad I didn't wake him.

Elliot

Jesus, my back hurts. Someone ran me over with a freaking Mac Truck. Or I've been sleeping in the cribs for too long again. My blurry eyesight adjusts, and Olivia's form comes into view. Oh, right. Shit. Basement, trapped, concrete walls.

I sit up, and squint at her. What the fuck is she doing?

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Oh, you're awake."

"Yeah, want to tell me why you're up there?"

She's standing on top of her shoes, and sweater, and all three of them are precariously balanced on the chair underneath the window.

"I'm trying to get out."

I sigh heavily and run my hand over my face. "Liv…"

"Elliot! We can't just stay here and do nothing! We have to at least try."

I stumble to my feet, ignoring the pain in my back. "That's not going to work."

One thing I know about my partner but incessantly continue to ignore is that she hates to be criticized. Olivia is the kind of woman who will never admit to being wrong. She's so damned stubborn and on anyone else, it would just piss me off, but it's Olivia and I could never hate her, so I cease to be irritated by it.

As predicted, she tries to prove herself right. "You don't have any better ideas so be quiet."

I cup my hands to my mouth and blow on them, trying to warm them. I'm really hoping they don't fall off. I know my toes are a lost cause because I can't even feel them anymore. I can only hope they still exist. "Liv, you must be freezing."

She's taken off her shoes and her sweater, and her lips are a bizarre shade of blue, just around the edges. And I really can't let her get hypothermic. That would be disastrous. We both need to be able to function if we want to escape.

"Liv, come down."

She shoots me a look, but recedes and comes back to my side. I study the wall where she was for a few minutes.

"El?"

"Liv, if I put you on my shoulders, can you get out?"

Her face pales, and she goes quiet. Then, she gets very, very mad. "Oh, no. No, no, Elliot Stabler, I am _not _leaving this place without you!"

"Liv, if it's the only way, then-

"No! Just quit that right now. I'm not leaving without you." She repeats herself.

I grab her biceps and force her to look at me, my face inches away from hers. "Olivia, you are getting out of here."

She shakes her head vehemently. "Not. Without. You."

I groan loudly and push her away, pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers. She's just so fucking stubborn. I speak lowly, trying to control my anger. "Can you make it out the God damned window or not?"

"I-

"Olivia?"

Silence, and then:

"Yeah." She whispers this quietly, her admission seeming to break her.

I reach over, searching for her in the dank area, and wrap and arm around her shoulder. "Then we have to do it, you understand that, right?"

"But I don't _want _to, El."

"I know. But you know that we need to get out of here, Liv."

She swallows thickly, her eyes wide.

TIME: 07:32Olivia

Everything is finalized. I'll try to break the window with my high heel boot when I'm up there, and then I'll try to fit my ass through the tiny window. Elliot has told me to follow any road or path, and get to the nearest phone and call Cragen. I would rather die than leave him here, but then I realize with a jerk that it _is_ a matter of life or death. Leave him here and get help, or we risk dying down here.

"Alright, Liv, come here."

I walk over slowly to where he's leaning on the wall. We're both so weak and tires, and probably dehydrated, too.

Elliot pulls me tightly into his arms, his nose inhaling the scent of my neck. I warp my arms around his waist just a strongly, knowing that this is good-bye for a long while. When he pulls back, Elliot kisses my temple gently.

"Good luck, Liv. I trust you, you can do this."

I shake my head a little. "What if I can't?" My voice is small and shaky. If I fail, he'll surly die here.

"You can, Olivia. No, look at me." I have tried to look away as a tear runs down my cheek. "Hey, it's okay. You'll be fine. I have faith in you." His thumbs stroke soothingly over my cheeks.

I sigh deeply and nod. He takes my hand and leads me quickly over to the window, before either of us can have second thoughts.

Only everything soon goes to shit when we hear footsteps behind the door. We're so hungry that we're confused and slightly disoriented already; so neither of us has had much time to do anything to shield ourselves. So suddenly is the door flung open, and there's a gun to my temple and a hand around my throat, and Elliot's eyes hold a terrified expression at our compromising situation…

A/N: I'd really appreciate reviews, they'll motivate me to get writing on the next one, which will be up within the week if not earlier…but it all depends on if you like it…

Lol. Anyways, thanks for reading and until next time, everyone!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Next part, hope you enjoy!

OLIVIA

Elliot's always had rage issues. Everyone at the squad knows, some know more details than others, but the cold truth is that his control can slip as easily on sand as it can on ice.

Ever since he's been a cop, and maybe even before that, the people surrounding him have had concerns as to whether or not he should maybe be on pills. Elliot spins a blind eye to them all, claiming that he can deal with it. That it won't happen again. But he knows it will. And so does everyone else. They just turn their backs because he's such a damn good cop.

It took me a while to get used to the way he operated, to get a handle on things. Soon enough, I'd begun to notice the warning signs. A twitch in his brow, a pulsing vein, shaking hands, they weren't much, but they signified a loss of underlying principle. They meant that whomever he was watching at the time had a damned good chance of going through a window in the following ten seconds.

And now, as a gun is forcefully jammed to my temple, and a hand is squeezing my windpipe a little harder than would have been necessary to get my cooperation, all I can think is Shit, Elliot, I swear if you loose it right now I'll kill you.

Because his expression is dark, very, very dark, and his hands tremble with the rush of the adrenaline that runs through him as vigorously as it runs through me. And trembling hands is one of the red flags on my list of What To Watch Out For. Surly he knows that one wrong move could cost me my life. Surly, he knows.

This is definitely not the moment to play the hero, El. Okay, point proven, you care about me. I already know that he cares for me more than he probably should. On any given day, that would give me butterflies. Unfortunately, in these dire circumstances, I know it can only lead to trouble. Because this is the part of being his partner that is not written in the job description. Elliot also has sharing issues when it comes to me. Not that I'd mind, now, because I definitely don't want to be dished out to _this _guy, but he's also extremely protective. He's got a Try Shit And Your So Dead attitude if someone so much as lays a finger on me. And I hope he know that now is not the time for heroics.

I try to relay this information through my eyes, but his gaze is locked steadily on the guy behind me. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up for, I was already woozy from the lack of food, and now my airways are blocked. Maybe if we just do what he says we can get out. Oh, I hope we get out.

"You're coming with me."

Elliot's eyes narrow. "Hell no, she's not."

"El…" I start to protest, but am abruptly cut off be the tightening around my throat. The sudden impact goes straight to my head, and my first instinct is to draw breath. Inhaling causes me to splutter and cough and drool unattractively all over my chin.

"Talk back, and bad things happen." His voice is gruff, and kind of hoarse, like he's a smoker. Actually, I'm pretty sure he's a smoker because a really musty, thick smell that has the suspicious scent of cigarettes clings to his clothing.

"She's not leaving with you." Elliot stands by his word, and I try to shake my head, try to tell him that a little tighter and I'll be seeing colours. I try to convey that maybe he should do what Big Guy says because I really need to breathe. I can only faintly register that I'm shaking uncontrollably.

Elliot seems to sense my dilemma. His eyes are still dark, almost black in the dim basement, but he licks his lips twice, fast, as if he's doing some really quick thinking. Big Guy disengages the safety on his weapon. Shit. Elliot, come on.

Big Guy straightens and starts to pull me towards the door. My feet shuffle slowly and clumsily, because now I'm light headed and it's like I'm watching from above. My feet feel so, so far away.

Elliot raises his hands over his head. "Okay! Okay. Let me come with you. Please, we'll both go."

The perp considers for a moment, and then sneers, "Sorry, three's a crowd."

He yanks me forward by the throat and as I expected in my daze, I falter and trip. He's still hanging on, though, so it's like he's holding my up by my neck. Subconscious reflexes cause me to scratch at his roughened hands with my nails. I believe I manage to draw blood.

"Bitch! Get up." And I am hauled to my feet. I have to blink slowly several times so that I can see straight. Elliot has moved considerably closer, probably his driven instinct to come to my aid pushing him forward.

"Please." Elliot says, when I'm almost half way out the door. "Please let me stay with her."

Again the perp stops, and he seems to have trouble with moving things along. That is probably a good thing. It looks like he's thinking good and hard. And I'm really worried when a devilish smile creeps upon his face before he tells Elliot to get the fuck out in front. Elliot wastes no time, though, and is standing before me within seconds, his hand on my arm.

"I said up front." And Elliot receives a sickening blow to the head with the cock of the gun for disobeying orders. Elliot winces and hisses in pain, but he's strong and so he glares at Big Guy and maintains eye contact until he has to turn his back in order to see in front of him.

"Keep moving forward until I tell you to stop. Keep your face forward."

ELLIOT

It's really dark, and I've got no way to tell if I'm about to cut up my shins on something sharp, or twist my ankle on stairs. Maybe it would be helpful if I paid full attention to the rugged terrain in front of me, but I can't stop thinking about Olivia. I can't see her right now and that makes me really fucking nervous. I can here her breathing, though, and although it's ragged and quick, I think she's mostly okay.

Doesn't change a thing, though.

I am still possessed my this overwhelming urge to squeeze the life out of this bastard slowly, painfully, and all I can picture is clamping one hand around his throat and the other over his mouth like he's doing to my partner right now. Hard. And just watch his eyes in satisfaction as the life leaks out of him. Sadistic, I know, but I can't control what I feel. I can, however, control what I do, and right now every move I make has a toll on how damaged Olivia will come out of this. I'm praying that the prick doesn't do anything to extinguish what control I have left.

From behind me, there is a strident cluttering noise, and then Liv's short intake of breath, a muffled yelp on the exhale. I stop and start to turn. "Liv?"

"Face forward."

"Olivia?"

"It's – it's fine, El. Do what he says."

"No, Liv, are you hurt? Talk to me."

"El…please…" God fucking dammit, are those tears in her voice?

"Yes, Elliot. Do as I say. Now." The prick mocks her, and the safety is again disengaged, and I can hear her breathing pick up again. Shit.

Her voice was small and also muffled when she spoke, leading me to believe he's got his fist over her airways. Bastard. I swear I'll get us out of here. I just don't know how yet.

I continue the blind treck, until he tells me to stop. I feel the wall where he directs and I almost fall when I reach a doorway. I stumble into the open space. There's commotion behind me, then around me, and in every fibre of my being I want to turn and make sure she's okay. With all my heart I want to gather her in my arms and shield her from him. Especially when I hear her weak "Oh,".

But he's got a gun, and we're defenceless. And what's more, we're both really weak. We're weak, thirsty, and I don't know about her but I need a bathroom sometime real soon.

My eyes snap closed briefly as the lights get flipped on, and then it's so strange because even though Olivia was behind me coming in, she's now in front, strapped to a chair. Her head hangs limply on her chest, her hair hanging in her eyes as sticky tears are on her cheeks. She's in a sleeper hold. Unable to fend for herself. My hands shake and my temples pulse with the urge to go to her. Or with the urge to pummel him, I can't tell which.

"Boy, are we going to have some fun…" The bastard's voice is rough, but he sounds satisfied, like he's got everything he needs, and everything is going his way. "This should make for a damned good party, Elliot. I hope your partner agrees…"

"Liv!" As I look to her, her arms are restrained, and she breathes really shallow. That worries me. I take a couple big strides forward, because the sight of her like that is eating me up. I need to help her. "Olivia, you okay? Talk to me!" I know it's useless, she's passed out.

Big footfalls behind me.

"Shut up." He cuts me off, grabbing my bicep and shoving the gun to my head instead. "Stand still and shut the fuck up."

A/N: Next chapter really, really soon… I promise! Please leave a review; it will inspire me to post even more quickly…


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Wow, thanks for all the reviews! I'm glad you are all enjoying it. Note: This will actually be more than three or four chapters…I keep getting more ideas…Anyways, this is just for you guys, because I said I'd post soon, so I'm writing this _now_ and putting off my exam reviews that I'm _supposed _to be doing until later. Three exams next week, and I really don't have any nails left to chew. Not that you want to know all this, but whatever. Lol. So if I don't post until later next week, you'll all know why. Hope life is being fair to you all…Enjoy:

OLIVIA

I know we're really in deep shit the minute I wake up. I mean, sure, we were definitely headed that way before, but there's just something about seeing Elliot chained to the wall, restrained by the iron cuffs around his wrists that makes the blood freeze in my veins. The heavy nosebleed he's sporting is an indicator that he didn't go down without a fight.

He's so fucking prideful. It'll kill him, surly, one day. I mean, if I was already passed out and strapped to a chair, obviously he wasn't going anywhere. He's already shown, on more than one occasion, his displeasure in going anywhere without me. So why can't he just do as he's told so we at least have a chance, God damn it! It's because Elliot Stabler is the last man on earth who'd let someone order him around, or let himself be overpowered. Hell, he mouths off to Cragen and The Brass whenever things don't go his way. I'm the one who has to tell him to let it the fuck go most of the time, anyways.

As hard as I try, I can't seem to keep my head up for more than a small minute at a time. I'm really tired, which is weird because I've just been sleeping, but whatever. I have worse things to worry about. My back is really starting to cramp from sitting like this for so long, and I know that in another fifteen minutes it'll be so uncomfortable I'll probably cry. Hell, I'll probably cry anyways, out of frustration. I'm hungry and I'm thirsty, so much so that I'm not sure I want to eat anymore. I know what they say about eating a little when you're extremely hungry, and I don't even want to go there. Doesn't help the fact that my abdomen is churning painfully and my throat feels like parchment. The throat thing may just be from being passed out, but it's still the same uncomfortable feeling that I automatically associate with really wanting a glass of cold water.

Basically, it's like having a ghastly Hangover From Hell with no Advil.

Christ.

I try to voice my displeasure at our current situation, but my tongue is really sticky right now, so all that comes out is a slurred moan.

"Olivia!"

Elliot fights against the restraints on his wrists. Apparently, he's been keeping close watch. My eyes have barley been open a few seconds and he's already aware of my consciousness.

"Jesus, El."

"Are you okay?"

"Uh… y - ."

"Are you hurt, Liv?"

"Elliot, I'm – ."

"What hurts, Olivia?"

Jesus Christ. "Calm down, El. Breathe, alright? I'm fine."

"No, Liv, your head- ."

"Hey, hey. Relax. It's okay. Now stop pulling on those things, you're going to make yourself bleed."

Elliot has been pulling aggressively on the chains around his wrists, trying to yank them from the wall with some unknown superhuman strength, I guess. He's just desperate to get us out of here. Or maybe it's the concern he's always had about injured colleagues. But, I'm not injured. Or at least, small cuts and bruises don't deserve to have Elliot spaz all over the place. I'm also not just a colleague, though. I'm his partner, and best friend, and that has to have an impact on his protective instincts, I suppose.

He continues to have anger surges and hence continues to irritate the sensitive skin of his wrists.

"El, I'm serious. Cut that out."

"You want to get out of here, or not?" His tone is harsh, like he's had it about up to here with this.

"Obviously, but you're not getting anywhere with that, Elliot, so I. Said. Stop."

He glares, but ceases his movements. His chest deflates and he kind of curls in on himself as he exhales his held breath.

"Liv, I- I can't just stand here…I gotta - ."

"We'll think of something, El."

"And what about when that bastard comes back, eh, Liv? What are we going to do then?"

"I don't know, but if you just calm down we can think about this rationally."

"There's nothing to think about, we're screwed." His voice is low and dark and I can absolutely n_ot_ deal with this Elliot right now.

He shakes his head and turns to face the wall, leaning his forehead against the cool concrete.

"I swear, Liv, if you get hurt…"

And then he gives me the Silent Treatment for a while. Figures.

ELLIOT

Olivia's yelling. She's determined not to accept the fact that we're not getting out without someone getting hurt and she's screaming for help. It's awkward because we both know no one can hear us, and also because I've never really heard her scream full out before. It's a really unpleasant sensation, to have her so close and shrieking for help and not being able to help her at all. I'm guessing she's also well past any point of ration, and now she's just doing whatever her survival instincts tell her to do. Hers tell her to cry for help. Mine say to lay low and not alert the prick upstairs that we're crumbling at his hands. He can't know that he' getting to us.

"Liv, it's not working."

She cuts off mid-yell. "We have to try, El."

"There's no one out there."

"How do you know?"

"I just do."

"Because your intuition is so fabulous." She's being snarky now, and I really can't deal with Olivia when she's like this.

TWENTY-THREE MINUTES LATER

Olivia's eyes snap to mine the second we hear the footfalls on the stairs. Although it's our kidnapper and I'd like nothing better than to pound his face in, I can't help the glimmer of hope that is in the pit of my stomach at the prospect of food. Food, food, food. It's really all I can think about. I want it so badly. More than I've ever, ever wanted anything.

We hold our breaths simultaneously when the door is snapped open.

Dear Sweet Lord, he's brought a tray with him. And it has food on it. Thank you.

I glance at Olivia and see the same expression of utter gratefulness on her face, but it's mixed with the underlying sensation of fear. I get it. I'll never let her get hurt. Don't worry, Liv. I'll protect you.

The Big Guy, whose name we still don't know, walks straight to Liv. Shit. My breath evaporates in my lungs while I wait for something, anything, to happen.

All he does, though, is hold the plate of fresh food under her nose. Her arms are strapped, so she really can't do anything except smell and see the platter. And I get really worried right about then because Big Guy's got a very cruel smile on his face.

Suddenly, he turns and takes the plate away from her, and starts walking towards me. I can hear her small, tormented whimper. Her breathing is laboured.

He's right in front of me, now, and it's my turn to smell. It looks so delicious. I want nothing more than to stuff my face and fill my stomach with the sight in front of me. Oh, God.

The bastard picks up one of the slices of one of the things that look very, very good, and holds it out to me, right in front of my mouth. Again, Olivia whimpers. The chains restrain me from grabbing the food, so Big Guy touches it to my lips. That angers me. No. He'll never, ever hand feed me. No fucking way.

But it just looks so fucking good…

My lips separate of their own accord, and I can't help the groan that escapes when it touches my tongue. It feels absolutely marvellous sliding down my throat into my stomach. Again and again he lifts the good food to my mouth. I'm blind to everything else except the amazing sensation of my hunger disappearing. It's glorious.

I've had my share, now, and only when I feel full do my eyes open. Big Guy sneers and starts to leave. He's already headed towards the door. A satisfied smile rests on my lips.

Until I see Olivia.

She's leaning forward in her seat as far as she can possibly go, and there is a small string of drool form her lips to her chin. Her face is scrunched up, and her whole body shakes. Small pleas in the form of whimpers escape her mouth.

Jesus Christ.

The Bastard.

"Hey! Get back in here!" I yell, at the top of my lungs. "Come back here, you Son of a Bitch! Help her!"

Now I understand. This was just another way to torture us. He made Olivia smell the food, made her watch as I got my fill, got her hopes up. And then he just leaves. I lunge forward, and fall on my hands and knees when I'm suddenly allowed to move. Looking to my hands, I realize that my wrists are free. I was too wrapped up in eating to notice that I've been freed. I run full out to the door, but he's already locked it behind him.

"You bastard!" My voice is hoarse from yelling. My face is red from exertion. My hands are sore from punching the door. "Come back! Come back!"

I let rip a loud yell of rage, and spin on the spot, to face my partner.

Olivia is sagged forward in her chair, shaking, hair in her eyes, face red, sobbing her eyes out. Really sobbing. Loudly.

I stride as fast as I can to her, and wrap my arms securely around her trembling form.

"Ssshh, Liv. Ssshhh, I'll get you out. I'll get you out, it's okay. It's okay."

But God, it is so completely _not _okay.

A/N: Review please! Oh, and if you have the time, please check out my other works?

Thanks again to all of you.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Wow, what a wonderful surprise all the reviews were! It warms my heart to know that you are enjoying this. Exams are over, so I figured I'd celebrate with you and post again! Haha, anyways, comment, review, enjoy…you know the drill by now. AND, if anyone has any prompts OR challenges, please feel more than free to suggest them, and I'll see what I can do.

On with the ride! And, for fair warning, the f-bomb was dropped here several times

ELLIOT

Since day one, when Olivia walked out of the Captain's office, confident in her stride, and grasped my hand tightly in a greeting gesture, she's been the strong one in the partnership.

It gives my ego a good kick in the gut to admit it, but Olivia's been the one whose had her feet on the ground all the time. I'm aware that I'm like a ticking time bomb and that everyone treads on eggshells around me, but I'm clear headed enough to know that she's the one who needs a break.

She needs a break so that she _doesn't_ break. Olivia Benson, strong, capable, independent, needs to take a good long vacation before it all accumulates in her head and she blows up under the stress.

All the signs are hidden, obscured under that determined allure of dominance, but I've been her partner for so long now that it's been impossible not to get close. We're so used to each other, so wired, that sometimes I feel like I'm thinking though her mind. And although she's excellent at playing games, even she can't hide it all from me. There's these small, seemingly insignificant moments when her façade crumbles. It barely lasts an instant, but it's usually enough for me to know that the Department Shrinks don't know shit about what goes on in her head. If they did, I know she'd be on mandatory leave for at least a month.

But see, that's just not who Liv is. She loves her job with every fibre of her being, and taking a vacation, for her, would be like giving up on everything she stands for. Drives me crazy, how fucking stubborn she is.

And damn it, all those times Cragen told her to go home, and she refused, have taken their toll. She should have gone home. She should have taken vacation time and she should have let her mind, body, and soul, relax.

Because now, under stress, she can't fucking calm down. She's frenzied. Hysterical. I'd send her to get doped on morphine if we were back in the city.

The stress builds and builds and builds, and now she's finally broken.

She's hungry and tired and confused and I have no fucking clue as to what the hell I'm supposed to do for her.

For the past twenty minutes, I've been hovering beside her, watching her let it out. I tried to hold her, to tell her that it was ok, but she'd pushed me away, screaming 'liar' at the top of her lungs. That's all she's really been doing. Screaming at the top of her lungs. She'll be very sorry later, when her throat is raw and hoarse.

I spring into action when I see that she's bloodied her fingernails. She's scratched at the restraints holding her to the chair, and her fingertips are red and swollen.

She claws at my hands when I wrap them tightly around her fists. She doesn't know it's me. She can't recognize me, she can't process thought. I need her to understand, though.

"Olivia! Stop. Stop this right now!" I try to speak firmly, but I don't even know if she can hear me over her constant, shrill screams and sobs.

"Olivia!" I'm yelling too; because I just want her to listen to me, damn it. I grasp her shoulders and shake her three times, trying to knock reason back into her head.

"Liv! Liv, look at me, look at me." I try to speak soothingly as I grip her head firmly in between both my hands. She slams her eyes shut and thrashes her head violently from side to side.

"Open you're eyes! Look!"

Somewhere in her mind, something clicks, and she opens her eyes. Her frenzied gaze meets mine head on, and I hold our connection with everything I own. "Alright. You're okay, Liv."

"It's a dream!" Her piercing scream is so loud that it resonates within the room several seconds after the initial sound has ceased. She pants loudly, eyes streaked with tears. Her pupils are dilated and her eyes shift quickly around the room.

I hold her head steady, and hesitate. "Tell me, Liv. A dream? What?"

"This! We're not really here. Its all a horrible nightmare…PLEASE, El! I just want to wake up! Please!" The thrashing is back, and so are the sobs, renewed in their watery torrents.

I shake her again, my hands on her shoulders, because I really can't have her uncooperative if we're getting out of here. "Olivia! Come on!"

"Elliot…ELLIOT!" Her voice is shrill, and piercing, and I think I might go deaf if she keeps this thing up. "I WANT TO WAKE UP!"

Shit.

"Okay, open your eyes, Liv. It's okay, we're getting out. We're getting out."

Her eyes tremble open, and her hair is mussed, and she looks around with a confused expression. "Why am I still here?" I'm really creeped out now, because her voice is small and high and girly. It's freaky coming out of her mouth. "El? Please…tell me it's not true."

Double shit.

"Uh…" I try to regain my composure. I have to be the rock, the anchor now, for both of us. "Don't worry. We're getting out soon, Liv."

She sniffles, but I'm surprised she doesn't scream again.

"Okay?" I say, and hesitantly remove my hands from her shoulders.

"No! El, don't leave. Stay. Stay."

I put my hands back, but around her biceps this time. "I'm not leaving without you, Liv. I promise."

She starts to cry hard again, but then, did she ever stop? "I'm hungry, Elliot."

"I know. I know. You'll eat soon."

"You got to eat…"

"It wasn't fair. I know, it wasn't fair, Liv."

"Please…can we go home…"

It's almost as if she hasn't understood a single word I've said. I'm not surprised…lack of food, lack of sleep, possible concussion…the list is long, but my patience has always been short. I swear, we're getting out of here soon. I'll make damn sure of it.

I sigh and run my fingers through her tangled hair. I press a soft kiss to the crown of her head, and breathe a sigh of relief when I feel her lean her weight into my chest. At least now she's okay with me touching her. This past hour, I think she's probably gone through every emotion possible. I gently cup the side of her face in my hand and wrap the other securely around her shoulders.

"Okay, Liv. Okay."

She doesn't respond coherently, because she's crying and she's already half asleep.

"Elliot…" Her voice is scratchy and in a few hours I know she will have lost it completely because of her screaming.

"What is it?"

"I…" and that's all she can force out before she burst into tears and turns her head into my chest and smears her snot and tears all over my shirt. I don't care though, because it's important that she's leaning on me for support.

Ten minutes later, her breathing has evened out, and her inhales are deep and undisturbed. The wet torrents on her cheeks are still present, but less frequent and now they've turned sticky and are drying. I rub soothing circles on her back, trying to keep her lulling in her slumber. I wrap her up in my warmth. My poor, poor Livia.

I'd gladly untie her, but Big Guy's got some sort of contraption going that needs a key, and I wouldn't be able to otherwise get her out without breaking her wrists or seriously injuring her, and as much as I want to get out of here, both are out of the question.

I need a plan.

Now.

Unfortunately, I don't get much time to formulate one, because the thought barely registers in my head when I hear footsteps on the stairs again, heavy and even. I pull away from Liv, and lean her sleeping form back in her chair, a small smile on my face when I see the crease on her cheek from sleeping against my coat. She mumbles in her slumber, but doesn't wake up. Good. She doesn't need to see this.

I go swiftly over to the door, plastering myself against the wall right next to it. I remember this is how I used to surprise my kids when they came out of the bathroom. Stay still, and right when they come through…

There is a jingling sound, and then the handle turns slowly. Big Guy tries to keep quiet…it's as if he knows that she's sleeping and he's trying to get her when she's vulnerable. Son of a Bitch.

I smell him before I see him, the heavy scent of cigarettes murking into the room. His breathing is loud, like he's unfit and has just run a mile. I don't underestimate his strength, though.

Luckily, I don't underestimate mine, either. I know what I'm capable of, and when a gun to Liv's head isn't in question, I know I can take this bastard.

When he walks staunchly though the door, I see this as my chance. I throw myself on him.

The element of surprise is on my side, this time, and I tackle him easily to the ground. He yells in shock, and I grunt as I exude more strength against his rising opposition. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Liv lift her head up.

Elliot, she screams.

I can't look at her, though. I stay one hundred percent focused on Big Guy. Because yes, he's fucking strong and yeah, he's landed a couple good ones.

But so have I. There's blood on my knuckles, and I'm not sure whose it is, but it has to be his, though, because it _is _on my knuckles, after all…

Punch. Kick. Bite. Elbow. Yell. Roll. Dive. Duck. Avoid. Lean.

The combined Marine and NYPD training works to my advantage. I'm cut out for my job, tall, strong, and I'm fit because I work out regularly. This guy, on the other hand, has obviously not seen a gym since he discovered MacDonald's. He's panting and his punches are sloppier as he gets more and more tired.

And then, the gun goes. A shot rings out, and then another. Olivia screams. I freak out because I don't know if she's hit or if she's just scared. She's yelling again, but I can't make out her words anymore.

And in my last effort, I blow his brains in. Punch, punch, punch. If. You. Ever. Fucking. Hurt. My. Partner. Again. I. Will. Kill. You.

The gun is sent flying from his grasp, sliding onto the floor. After that, it's a mad dash of rolling, flailing limbs to get there first. I do whatever I can to make sure I reach it before he does.

There's a hand on my arm, yanking me back, there's yelling from everywhere, there's pain in my ribs…and then, my hand closes around something cold and hard and familiar.

I scramble to my feet, and press the tip of the gun hard into Big Guy's skull.

All sound, all movement ceases. I open my mouth and try to control my eccentric breathing as I speak. It comes out as guttural and as threatening as I mean it to.

"Untie her, you bastard. Untie her right fucking now or you're dead."

A/N: Muah hahahaha! Cliffhanger! I seem to have a small problem with those…

Thanks for reading everyone; I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Review if you are so inclined. I'll try to update quickly.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks for your review, you guys keep me going! Your encouragement means a lot! Here's the next part, I hope you enjoy and kindly comment at the end!

OLIVIA

Two blind shots ring out before Elliot can get this guy under control. That was two minutes ago.

Now, the room remains staunchly silent. Apart from our laboured breathing, there isn't a single sound. Elliot's hand is shaking terribly as he holds the gun to Big Guy's head. His finger twitches dangerously over the trigger, and he's fighting for control over his rage, and I know he's begging the guy for an excuse. I know he was just waiting for him to try and move, to try and fight. I also know that we need the damned key and there was no way we are getting it without this bastard's help. So Elliot had better not fucking shoot him.

I want to tell Elliot to stop when he suddenly hits the Guy in the back of the neck with the gun. He then proceeds to shove his face into the floor. That God damned pride of his. Beating this guy up would be enjoyable, but not useful.

Despite the recent events, my head is unnaturally clear. My memory is fuzzy, though, and all I remember is Elliot looking very worried. Not to mention my throat is worse than parchment paper lit on fire, and I feel so weak that I know I might just pass out from blinking. Everything hurts. My head, my stomach, my throat, my wrists, and there is a concentration of extreme pain in my lower right abdomen. It's like a constant sting, the worst of pinches, and it just gets worse and worse. It's an enormous building cramp, and I'm so tired and frail now that I know I don't notice it as much as I should. I'm so frustrated, because I just want this to end. I just want to be home and in my own bed and asleep. I don't want to hurt anymore. My head falls back and a groan escapes my lips.

"Olivia!"

I can hear Elliot calling me, but I can't force my head up to look at him. It just hurts too much and I want to go to sleep. Oh, God, I want to sleep.

"Jesus Christ!"

He swears, loudly, and I hear a thud and then a groan, and I'm guessing Elliot must have clocked the guy a good one on the head. He's an idiot. If Big Guy ends up dead, I'll never get the key and then I'll never be free and we'll never go home…oh God, oh God…

"Liv, open your eyes. Come on, open your eyes." I feel his hand weave through my hair, and cup the back of my neck. His other hand presses down hard on my stomach and the pain is blinding and why the _hell _did he do that? My vision is erased and all I can see is red and it hurts so much, so I can't stop the yelp that escapes my throat at his touch.

"Sorry, sorry. Please, Olivia. Stay. Stay with me. Just hold on. I'm gonna get you out of here."

And it's then that I recognize the familiar dialogue. _Hold on, stay with me, open your eyes_…it's words I've repeated several times myself. That, and the pain. The pain. Oh, Jesus.

I've been shot.

I've been shot in the God damned gut.

"El…"

"Ssshhh, don't talk."

But I really need to talk to you! I'm freaking out, here! My first time getting shot, and I'm nowhere near medical attention. It's a gut wound, so I'll last, but I'm still so, so scared.

"Elliot…get…get the…key."

I can feel the warmth of blood seeping through my clothes, pooling into my lap. I don't want to die. I don't want to die! My vision is blurry and maybe it's from the wound, and maybe it's from tears but I can't tell anymore.

I really don't want to die like this.

ELLIOT

This. Is. Not. Happening.

No, this can't be true. Please.

Not to her, not now…

Olivia's hand is clenched around my fingers, and her breaths are shallow and quick. For the time being, she's got her eyes open, but she was already weak and I don't know how long she'll be able to hold up for.

I pry her fingers from mine with a bloody hand, and proceed to smooth the back of my hand over her forehead. I tell her to hold on and that I'm going to get the key. I tell her to stay calm because I can tell that she's panicking. Her eyes dart around and her breath is coming out in huffs, and she gets afraid when I try to leave. She keeps trying to talk, too, and I know that it's a bad idea because really, she has to save her strength.

I run over to where Big Guy is lying, unconscious, and I pat him down just as if I were looking for a weapon on a suspect. I check every pocket as I search, making sure that I've missed none. Just as I'm about to give up, because Olivia is making noises now and she needs me, I catch the faint, familiar jingle that can only mean one thing.

Popping open all the buttons on his jacket as I search the inside pocket, I start a frantic race against the clock. Olivia was shot approximately five minutes ago, but it's a gut wound. That's a good thing, if anything. On average, people can live from gunshot wounds to the gut for a few days…and in her weakened state, I don't want to go down that road right now. My throat tightens uncomfortably and my eyes moisten with unshed tears. If Olivia dies like this…Oh, God.

My hand closes around a key, located in the right inside breast pocket. I run back over to Olivia, who is whiter than a sheet and panting.

I hurriedly fit the key in both locks, freeing each of her hands. They are red and raw, and terribly irritated. As soon as she's free, I put one arm around her shoulders and one arm under her knees. She grimaces, but doesn't make a sound. Her fingers twist themselves in my shirt, and she clings to me vigorously. I lift her up and pull her out of the chair. When she's moved, she does yell. Because the pain of having her abdomen moved is just so excruciating.

I lay her down on the ground, and now I need to know exactly where she was hit. I haul her shirt up and it bunches just below her breasts. I can't let myself be distracted right now, though, so I make sure to keep my gaze focused on the hole in her side. Ah, shit.

I put both my hands on the area, and push down as hard as I can, knowing that what important now is to stop the bleeding.

"Aah!" Liv cries out when I apply the pressure.

"I know, I know. I've got to keep up the pressure, Liv."

"Elliot…I want…to…go home…"

"Yeah, we will, Liv. The door's open, now. We're leaving."

I smooth my hand over her face again, and I know this will not be easy. She's freaking out and I press a soft kiss to her forehead.

"Can you walk?"

Olivia closes her eyes and winces.

"Liv?"

"Ahh…I…No."

Shit. Okay, think.

"Olivia, I'm going to help you, Okay? But you need to stand."

She groans and shakes her head. "No, no…"

"Liv, you have to if you want to get home." I know how hard it will be for her, but it's really the only way we can get out of here. I would go get help, but I'm not leaving her. No way in hell is she going to be alone through this. We have to try.

Her forehead is dewed over with sweat, and her lips tremble. Her hands are clammy.

I shift and put my arm around her shoulders, indicating that it's time to get up. She starts to cry and shakes her head vehemently from side to side, thrashing.

"Liv…"

"I know. It just…hurts…Elliot."

A tear slips down my cheek. "I'm right here, Olivia."

"Okay."

Putting one hand under each of her arms, I lift her to her feet. She groans as her feet and the muscles in her abdomen contract to support her weight once more. I wrap my arms around her, around her chest, and hook my chin over her shoulder.

"You're okay. Ssshhh."

"Elliot…I…don't know if…I can…do this." Her breathing is shallow and hard again, and she sags as she leans her weight back into me.

"Don't go there, Olivia. You can. You're strong. We'll get some food upstairs. Come on."

"Elliot…Please…"

"I'll get you help, Liv. Okay? We just need to get out of here first. You can do it. I know you can."

Actually, I don't at all know that she can. Her face is so pale it's almost green, and her lips are definitely blue. She trembles in my arms and her feet are slow and lazy to walk under her.

By the time we finally reach the door, I know this isn't going to work. She's already so tired and I can't afford to let her waste her energy. She's loosing faith, her fingers slipping from mine, and she dissolves into tears again.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, El. I can't, I can't."

"Olivia, don't do this. It's okay."

"No…it's not."

"Ssshhh, don't talk. Save your strength."

I kiss her temple and she leans against me heavily, wrapping her arms around my neck. I get her implied idea, and wrap an arm under her shoulders and one behind her knees. I'll have to carry her out. She simply doesn't have the physical or mental strength to get herself out.

I lift her, and now she's like a bride in my arms.

Except that she's bleeding. A lot.

And she's crying a river of salty tears.

And she's closing her eyes, her head on my shoulder as she relaxes against me.

She can't die. Olivia Benson can't possibly die. She can't. I love her too much.

As I walk out into the hall, my breath heavy from the exertion of carrying her limp form, I whisper against her, my lips at her ear, "Don't you give up on me, Olivia."

A/N: Review please! I promise to post very soon. Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Here's the next part. Sorry I've taken a while…Oh, Thatlazybum, I'll try to get Decisions to you soon. ;). Thanks a million to all who reviewed…it makes my day like you don't even know!

**Sometimes**, when a particularly traumatic even occurs, it pushes the mind to grasp certain concepts that would otherwise have stayed in the dark.

Sometimes, when you've been abandoned by everything you know, everything that was conventional in your life, there's only one thing left for you to acquire.

Sometimes, when you're focused on the one thing that really matters to you anymore, there's only one simple, yet extremely vital part of life left for you to seize.

This time, it is a predominantly risky operation that makes me realize that…

…I'm in love with my partner.

It hits me like a ton of bricks. Like a splash of cold water to the face. Like an open flame to my bare skin. I'm in love with Olivia. How I couldn't have known it before, I have no idea. How I didn't come to figure it out years earlier escapes me. But I see it, _feel _it now, more clearly than anything I've ever felt before. That feeling of warmth, of unadulterated alarm for the woman in my arms, sure as hell didn't come from any kind of adrenaline rush. No, that feeling of uninhibited fear for her well being is present because I am fucking head over heels in love with her.

That old saying, something about how you 'don't know what you had until it's taken away', has never rung in my head as loud as it does now. I should have known. I should have acknowledged what I felt for her instead of wallowing over Kathy because now she's dying. She's dying, and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it.

Why did this have to happen now? We should have years ahead of us. We should have decades of friendship, of love, of time working late, of time sleeping in, of time getting drunk. We should be allowed a lifetime of happiness, of joy, of togetherness. Because everyone knows that no one deserves to be happy, to have someone to lean on, more than Olivia.

"Liv, just hang on, okay? It's almost over. It's almost over."

Her eyes are closed and her breathing is shallow. It's not quite worse than it was before, but I know that her situation can deteriorate at the drop of a hat. Right now, I can't take any more stupid risks…like insisting we come here without backup in the first place. Right now, I can't take anything for granted.

My God, if she dies, I'll never forgive myself.

My previous words echo around in my head, irritating taunts reminding me that if she dies here, it's on me. It's all on me.

"_Elliot, just call for the unis. What can it hurt?"_

"_What can it hurt? Liv, what it he's got her in there right now? What if she's this close to being dead?" I gestured with my fingers. _

"_Yeah, and what if he's got some buddies, too. We can't take charge yet, we haven't covered all of our bases."_

"_I don't care. I'm going in, with or without you."_

_She sighed, rolled her eyes. "You're out of your mind if you're thinking of going alone."_

_I opened the driver's door of the squad car, and eased myself out. "You'll follow me anywhere, Liv. Stop pretending like you don't want this guy as much as I do."_

_She opened her door, got out, and fixed her harsh stare on me.. "Fuck you, Elliot. You don't know what I think."_

_I glared at her sharply. She doesn't get it. "I'm going."_

_She slammed her door with enough power to shake the whole vehicle, swore under her breath, and followed. "I'm only backing your play because it would really suck if you died."_

"Elliot…I…I can't…uunnhh."

"Ssshhh. Don't talk, honey. It's okay, we're almost out." I press her face into my chest with the hand of the arm around her shoulders.

"You…we…don't even know the way out…" She's breathless.

"I'll find it. I promise, soon."

"No…it…hurts, El." She lets go of my neck and pushed down with her hand on the area that is stained a deep red. Stained. Her shirt is drowning in her blood, and my hands are painted. The rusty substance litters my clothes but all I'm concerned about is her blood loss.

"I know. I know, honey. Breathe."

She starts to cry, warm torrents streaming down her cheeks, dripping onto my shirt.

"Ssshhh, alright, Olivia, take it easy. Don't panic. Just relax, okay?"

"O…kay."

I look around to take in my surroundings. This warehouse is a fucking maze. There are small hallways leading off the main corridor about every fifteen feet, each their own intersection, each holding the probable outcome of an exit.

I can't see well, either. The lighting in here really sucks, the only source of light being the end of this seemingly infinite tunnel, the light the unconscious-hopefully-dead bastard back in the concrete room must have left on, to aid him in his horrid task.

"Elliot…please."

"What is it?"

"I'm…hungry."

"I know. It's coming, Olivia. I'll get you food. I promise." There's got to be food in this hellhole somewhere. After all, I got my fill not long ago, and there's got to be more from wherever that came from. My best guess is to steer myself towards the end of the hall. I have to go slowly, because my shin is still sore from tripping over something littering the last time we were in this hallway. I shuffle my feel cautiously, because falling on my face would be bad news for me, and worse news for Olivia.

"Unnhh…uunnhh…El…"

"Ssshhh, it's okay, it's alright."

I hold her securely to my chest, making sure not to bounce her too much when I walk. I can feel that her stomach muscles are clenched, to stay in my arms, and I know that must be painful for her. My hand draws small circles on her back, trying to get her to unwind. To relax. She's basically a dead weight in my arms, but she's never been heavy and I know that she's insisting on trying to help, even just a little.

My pace accelerates by a marginal amount, because now we're nearing the end of the hall, and I can see relatively better. But the trek is still slow because I'm unsure of my footing still. My heart pounds in anticipation…will this be the exit? It has to be. This is obviously from where our guy came. It has to lead somewhere useful. Somewhere with a phone. Somewhere with a door leading to outside.

"Elliot…please…tell…them…"

I'm confused – what is she talking about? "What, sweetheart?"

"Tell…your…please…they…need…know…"

My God, she's completely delirious. "Okay, alright, Liv."

"No…you…hafta…understand…"

"I do." I have no clue what you're talking about…

"Tell your…kids…"

My kids? "What about them, honey?"

"Tell 'em…I'm so…sorry."

What in the hell?

Okay, alright. Concentrate. She's delirious. She probably doesn't know what she's saying. Just agree with her, and that's that. Keep her happy. I squeeze her tightly.

"Alright Liv. I will."

"Elliot…"

"What is it?"

"I'm…hungry."

I breathe deeply. "I understand that, honey, I'll get you something to eat as soon as I can."

This time, in the light of the hallway ahead, I can see that the remaining area ahead is free of clutter. I hoist her higher against me, and kiss her forehead. "Okay, Liv. Here we are. We're almost there."

"O…kay…"

Her skin is cold, and her face is chalky white, and yet her face is flushed by a sheen of perspiration that has settled all across her forehead. She's feverish, but I can hear her teeth chattering. This is definitely not good.

I pick up the pace momentously, and finally reach the end of the hall. Looking to my right, I spy a set of steep stairs that leads to another landing. Only at the top of this landing, there is light. Like, clear light. Like, light from the sun, light. My heart jumps into my throat at the prospect of finally getting out. I'd gotten so restless, locked in that room. I need to be free. We both need nothing more than to breathe fresh air.

I begin to climb the stairs. They are steep, and I remember now that Olivia almost tripped when she was being forced down the same ones. I caught her arm to steady her at the last second, just nearly avoiding falling myself. The ascent is distinctly harder, what with Olivia as a practical dead weight in my arms. Please, please, let me keep my balance…

There is no railing to offer any type of support. That's why I'm considerably proud of myself when I make it to the top without wavering. Adrenaline, mixed with pure fear can do amazing things, sometimes.

We are now standing in what seems to be a makeshift family room. An old couch, a table, a television. An old recliner sits in the corner, the stuffing of the chair bubbling out through the tears in the material. It's dingy, and it reeks of alcohol. Olivia moans.

"Ssshhh, it's almost over."

"No…Elliot…I…"

"It's okay. Save your breath, Honey, save your strength."

"Please…El…I think I'm…"

I hold her close and stroke her hair gently, my lips to the crown of her head. God, she needs to survive. I can't…I simply cannot go on without her beside me.

Olivia is an intricate part of my design.

"El – I'm gonna - ."

She doesn't even have the strength to lift her head and lean over, when she suddenly vomits blood all over herself.

Oh, God.

**A/N**: Remember, reviews always prompt me to update quickly…Thanks for reading everyone! Hope you enjoyed.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N**: Next part…please comment!

"_**Elliot**__…there's a whole building here and we don't even know where he is."_

"_Trust me, Liv. He's in here."_

"_You'd better be right."_

"_I am."_

_I walk forward, hugging the wall with one shoulder, Olivia close enough behind me that I can feel her warmth. She's pissed, that much I know, because she thinks this is dangerous and not a good idea. _

_I say this perp has a girl stashed here somewhere, and besides, two cops with guns versus and idiot with a knife? Poor guy stands no chance. But no, Liv, always the pessimist, doesn't see it that way. _

_We come to a dead end, the concrete walls coming together in front of us. But it can't be a dead end…the floor plan we examines clearly shows…_

"_El!"_

"_What?"_

"_Look – back there!"_

_She is pointing at a tiny little niche in the wall, opposite us. It's dark and we can't really see much, so if we are going to go through that, it's a blind guess. Will we end up in the right place?_

_I walk forward and take a closer look. It's just big enough for both of us to fit. And perfect for dragging an unconscious female victim though. Got him. _

"_Let's go."_

"_El I - ."_

"_It's now or never, Olivia. We'll never get another chance at this guy. You know it."_

_I stare right into her eyes, and despite her resistance, I can tell she know I'm right. I nod a couple times, maybe to reassure her, maybe to reassure myself, and put a hand on her hip as we slip through. It's a tight fit. Like, really tight. Like I might be in deep shit if she presses any closer to me tight. Her breath falls in short bursts against my neck, and I can feel the warmth of it. Her breasts are pressed tightly against my chest and God, her ass…her ass…I have to think of something sad. Quick. Focus. Dead puppies. Drowned babies. Munch as a ballerina. The frightening thought isn't quite enough to squash my turn-on, not when I can smell her, feel her, this close to me._

_She squirms; trying to get past me when it becomes obvious we can't fit side by side. _

"_Damn it, Liv, hold still." My hands grip her hips tightly. She looks at me questioningly, blissfully unaware. Or maybe she knows. Maybe she's playing with me. Today has been a long one, with no leads and lots of bitching. Snarky remarks and snippy insults included. They tend to go at each other's throats when they're tired. _

_I take a few calming breaths to try and regulate myself. At least we're pressed together in such a way that she can't look down. Could be worse. Could be worse. _

_I push past her and continue in the lead towards our perp. _

"Liv!" I quickly place her on the ground and sit behind her, resting her head on my knees. "Olivia! Breathe, please, honey, you gotta hang on"

Oh, God. Oh, no. No, no, no. Vomiting blood. That _cannot _be qualified as a good thing.

"Can you breathe, honey?" I shake her shoulders gently, trying to rouse her in her weakened state.

She mumbles something I can't hear.

Her shirt is a complete mess, and now her bloodied bile is all over her front, too. Her forehead is damp and burning, but despite that, she's trembling furiously. Shivering. Moaning faintly.

"Okay, you're going to be fine, you're going to be alright…" I busy myself unbuttoning the front of her blouse. It's no longer doing anything to stop the bleeding, and the slippery wreck of clothing won't do anything helpful by causing infection. She doesn't even seem to be aware that I'm removing her shirt. She'd hit me if she knew. Maybe I should tell her…

"Liv? I'm taking off your shirt, okay? Just for a second. I'll give you a new one."

"Uuunnnhhhh…kay…" Her voice is faint, her breathing shallow pants.

I gently pull her arms through the holes, removing the article of clothing completely. Underneath, her skin is tinged a bright and rusty red, and the bulled wound looks mean and raw. Around the affected area, her blood is so steady and so prominent that it's almost black. At least there's no sign of infection. Yet.

He gathers up his jacket from around his waist, and bunches is up to use as a compress and a towel. After swabbing the area, he presses down firmly on her gut with the jacket.

Olivia screams.

Then she sobs noisily, the tears running freely down her cheeks.

"Shhhh, I'm sorry Liv, I'm so sorry. I know. I know it hurts."

"Ahhhh…. Unnnhhhh….pl…please…no…"

"It'll be all over soon, honey. It's just for a little bit. You'll pull through."

God, Olivia, you have to pull through.

"El…let's…let's just…get…out of…here." Heavy panting.

"Okay. I'm going to get you to a hospital, Liv."

"No! No…not that again…please…"

What? "Not what again, sweetheart?"

"The…chair…"

Oh, God. She's completely delusional, and she must be having flashed of the chair where she was tied…my darling Olivia. If only she could know that I've got her. If only I could take it away for her.

"No chair, honey. I promise."

"El…"

"Yeah?" Good. That's good. Keep her talking. Keep her awake. I pretend to have great interest in what her delirious mind had to say while I feverishly work the buttons of my dress shirt. After I slip it off, I quickly caress the side of her face. She leans into my touch and her tears haven't abated. Her torso is a horrid mess of flesh and red.

I grit my teeth against her moans of pain as I slip the shirt on her, buttoning the front. Hopefully, this will shield her from the cold and staunch some of the bleeding. It's the least I can do right now.

Olivia falls back onto my knees, mumbling incoherently. I can make out my name here and there in her incessant babble, but everything else is foreign. She seems to have forgotten about food, but I know she's hungry and dehydrated. I need to get to some sort of nutrition. She needs strength. Besides, I'm getting hungry myself…and she didn't eat when I did.

I press my lips to her forehead firmly, so she can feel the gesture. Right now, all I can do is try to keep her comfortable, and awake. Also, reassured. Comforted. Because if she had a panic attack now, it would be very, very dangerous.

I need a phone. There's got to be one in here somewhere.

But this place is huge.

And I don't think she'll make it if I carry her around everywhere.

Liv, I love you. I love you; I want you to know that, honey.

"Olivia?"

"Unnhhh."

"I…I love you, baby."

"Mmmmhhhh."

She turns her head to the side, and presses her lips against my knee in a delicate kiss.

I press mine to the crown of her head, and I can see her visibly relaxing.

A phone. An ambulance. Food. Water. An oxygen mask. A blanket.

The essentials that are definitely _not _available.

Things don't look good. Things don't look good at all.

**A/N**: Please review! Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Next part...I hope you enjoy. This chapter, and then some more action...!

It quickly dawns on the rational part of my brain that sitting here waiting for a miracle is just not going to cut it. If we're going to get out of here, both of us, alive, then I need to come up with a plan. Quick. But my mind is a whirlwind of emotions, of confused and panicked thoughts, making it almost impossible to think straight. I flinch. Stop. I need to _stop_ freaking out. Deep breath. In…Out…In…Out. Olivia needs me to take control, here. She trusts me to take care of her, to get her to safety. I need to quit with the freaking out and remember my job. I'm a cop, for Christsakes, I already _know _what to do, I just need to calm down enough to de-block the mental traffic jam in my brain. Okay. Think.

Infection is definitely high on the list of probabilities, and even higher on my list of things to prevent first.

And, by the looks of it, the bleeding just isn't stopping.

Which, unfortunately for Liv, means removing the bullet.

I know how. I've had tons of training in the Academy, and I've been present for more than enough autopsies throughout my career to know the basic steps to this procedure. I'm just not one hundred percent sure that I can perform this on my partner. There's just something about sticking some sharp item into her stomach and retrieving a foreign object that completely and totally scares the living shit out of me.

But if it means saving her life…

"Liv?"

She doesn't respond. I would be worried except for the fact that I can tell she's still awake, from the laboured breathing and torturous sounds bubbling up her throat. She's really in a lot of pain, but all things considered, she's a real trooper. I'm so proud of her.

"Olivia? Are you listening?"

"Mmmffff…" Her head thrashes from side to side in my lap.

"I…uh…we have to find a…table, okay?"

"O….k-k…"

"I'm going to lift you up, alright?" I brush the hair from her wet forehead with gentle fingers. "Can I do that?"

"Y-y-yeah…"

I breathe a quick sigh if relief, and as carefully as I can, I slip my left arm under her shoulders, and my right arm under her knees.

The disturbing noises coming from her throat increase significantly in volume when I lift her from the floor.

"Shhhh, it's okay, it's okay…" I repeat the meaningless words in a desperate attempt to keep her calm.

I can tell she's putting all her effort into trying to stay still in my arms, but despite her tries, she still shakes violently.

It seems like God has finally answered my prayers. Up until now, our situation has done nothing but deteriorate. But in the light of this miracle, I feel my heart thump anew, filled with a newborn sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, we'll make it out of here.

I'm filled with hope because, after shuffling around in the dark for the better part of fifteen minutes, I stumbled across a new source of light. It was duller than the one from the other room, with more of a glow to it. More…comforting. Upon entering the newly found room, the sight of a furnished room had greeted us, complete with table, couch, chair, fridge, sink, television, and several cupboards. There is a window on the far side, and the ceiling is low. If the situation wasn't so dire, I might go as far as saying this room has a sense of calm. Of…comfort, maybe? My hands had twitched with the knowledge that this is where the son of a bitch who'd done this must have been living. But the larger part of my mind is focused on the meaning of what this crappy room can bring.

I quickly walk over to the table, and set Liv down as gently as I can. This is no time to mess it all up, not when recovery is possible. I can absolutely not be hasty and cause even more damage to her body.

Olivia grips my hand in hers tightly, her knuckles white with the effort. I can tell she's trying to say something, but although her lips are moving, no sound is coming up past her heavy panting.

"Shhhh, Olivia, you're going to be okay. I found a good place for us. You'll feel better soon, I promise. Just try to stay awake, alright?"

"Unh…kay…"

I carefully extract my hand from hers, and despite the fact that she's kind of wound up, I don't think she has noticed its absence. As quick as I can, I search the room desperately for something, anything, that I can use. I throw open drawers hastily and rummage through them, not caring when the things I shuffle through clatter noisily to the floor. I pop open the cupboards, and the doors bang noisily against each other. When my eyes stumble upon the corked bottle of whiskey, I thank my lucky stars, and set it down on the counter. This will help Olivia with the pain when I begin the…procedure. Oh, God. Do I even know what I'm getting myself into?

A grey but rather clean looking cloth is resting on the corner of the sink, and I waste no time in wetting it with a flow of water from the tap. I must make sure the wound is clean before I start anything.

I search through this bastard's clothing closet, reminding myself that I'll really need to wash my hands…rub away all his filth from my skin. This selfish thought concerning myself when my partner is writing on the table, dying, is quickly erased when I my fingers grasp something resembling a pouch. Unzipping it, I realize that it is, in fact, a nail bag, complete with the scissors, clippers, a nail file, and…Oh, Jesus, Oh, Thank You God, long, tong-like tweezers. Perfect.

I hurry back over to Olivia, to check on her condition. She's sweating profusely on her forehead, her hair matting at her temples. A trickle of blood drips from the corner of her mouth. She's shivering and despite the fever, the rest of her body is ice cold.

"Liv? It's almost over, Okay? I'm going to help you. You'll feel better soon, honey."

"El…"

"I'm here, I'm right here."

"It…h-hurts…"

"I know. I know, Liv, hang on for me, okay? Stay awake, sweetheart."

I kiss her forehead lightly, and proceed with my mission. I take the cloth and thoroughly, or as much as I can, wipe the sharp tweezers down. I wash my hands, and I uncork the whiskey. I take these items back to Olivia.

She can't die. She just can't. I don't know what I'll do if she does. I'll never, ever forgive myself.

I put one hand behind her head and lift it, so that she's kind of on an angle, able to drink without spilling. I tip the bottle to her lips.

"El…what…"

"It's help, Liv. I promise. Please, just drink." Please, please drink it, sweetheart.

To my extreme relief, she opens her lips and I touch the bottle to her mouth. I tilt it slightly, and the mostly full bottle sends the amber liquid right into her mouth, sliding down her throat, several drips slopping down over the edge of her mouth and onto her shirt. After three small swallows, Olivia makes a face and shakes her head, coughing a little.

"I don't want…unh…no more…please…"

But I know that three tiny sips aren't going to make much of a difference.

"Yeah, Liv, you gotta. Please, honey, do it for me."

"El…"

"Olivia, this is really important, honey."

She doesn't speak, but closes her eyes and opens her mouth again. I again angle to bottle to her lips, and she drinks some more. She's really trying not to make a face as the drink slides down her throat with a burn.

Soon, I figure she's had enough. She's weak already, and I just want to anaesthetize her, not knock her right out. The last thing I want is her passing out on the table and then dying on me, without me even knowing about it.

I kiss the crown of her head, and brush her hair out of her eyes. "You did great, Liv. You're so strong. I'm so proud of you."

I gently lay her back on the table's surface, and when she's relaxed enough, I takes three, very deep breaths. It's as if I'm trying to ward off my own panic attack. I can't I can't I can't I can't I can't I can't I can't I can't I CAN'T HURT HER. No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe In.

Breathe out.

Breathe In.

I pick up the tweezers with shaky hands.

I blink the wetness out of my eyes, and smooth my hand over her soft un-injured side.

Jesus, I need to get a grip if I'm going to do this right.

I hold the tweezers in one hand, and unbutton my shirt (that's on her, right now) with the other. Picking up the cloth, I swab the affected area with clean water. Olivia jumps and whimpers, either at the coldness or from pain, I don't know. I hope I drugged her enough that she won't feel as much of it.

"Okay Liv…close your eyes, baby."

She complies, almost as if she knows what's going on. I didn't want to tell her, for fear that she get so scared and freak out completely. But she's smart, very clever, and I'm beginning to wonder if she's not more lucid than I thought. I wonder if she's not entirely conscious of what's about to happen. Maybe, but, really, maybe not.

It's like one of my most vicious nightmares come true. There's so much blood. She's so weak.

"On the count of three, honey. Okay. Just relax, baby, I promise you'll feel better after this. Trust me, sweetheart."

She seals her eyes shut and her hands grip the edge of the table tightly.

"One…" _Oh, no_. "Two…" _Oh, Jesus_. "Three…" _God help me_.

I bring the tweezers to her stomach.

A/N: ***resists the urge to evil laugh*** You guys have been truly amazing with all the reviews. _Thank you more than you can possibly know_!


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Love, love, love everyone's feedback. :))

**OLIVIA**

Pain. Hot, Burning, Fiery,

Pain. Bitter, Cold, Freezing,

Pain. Crimson, Rage, Sharp,

Pain. Numb…Numb…Numb…

Numb, Numb, Numb…

Hot, cold, hot, cold…

I want…I want…to die…

Continuous searing, continuous writhing, it's worse than anything I've ever felt before. It's the jagged end of a knife twisting in my gut, it's the fine point of a needle propelled into my stomach over and over and over and over…it's worse than any God damned thing I've ever, ever felt.

If I could think about something else, anything else, I would. I would. I would. I need him to keep talking to me. _Talk to me Elliot_! Please…make me think of something else…anything else…

The gun. The gun, the gun, the gun. I saw it! I saw it! Why didn't I just move a little to the right…why didn't I just move out of the fucking way! Oh…that's right…I was tied…I was tied to a chair and Elliot was fighting…fighting….

Elliot…Elliot, Elliot, Elliot.

Where are you?

I can't hear you! I can't see you! Where…where…

Oh, God, I'm cold…It hurts so much and I'm so cold…again…am I alone again…so scared…

Elliot…please…please make it stop make it stop make it stop I can't stand it much longer!

Ellio-

"Shhhh…hold still, Liv, honey, please, try not to move."

Ahhh…. you're here, you're here…talk to me, talk to me… "El…"

"Yeah, I'm right here. Just relax, okay?"

Breathe, just breathe, just –

_AH!_

**ELLIOT**

I use my index and thumb on my right hand the try to pull apart the fleshy section of skin near her left hip. Before I can back out, before I can knock sense into my brain and convince myself that this is not a good idea, the tweezers prod at the hole made by the sharp bullet.

Her reaction is almost instantaneous. She seizes, recoiling from the offending object with such force that the table rocks. Although no loud sound comes out, her mouth forms the shape of a perfect 'o' and her brow is scrunched up so that her eyes are pressed tightly closed. I reach out with a bloodied hand to clutch her other side, trying to keep her still. She whimpers and tries to move away.

"Come on, Liv, come on, I know you can do this."

I look around the room, as a reflex, trying to find something, anything that will help me here. Unfortunately, past the crappy couch and other furnishings, it appears that I've already used up all available resources. Damn it.

Again, I insert the tweezers into the wound, searching for the bullet.

This time, Olivia screams.

Loudly.

I close my eyes, shutting them tightly for a few seconds, and then open them with a sharp intake of breath. As much as this is hurting her physically, it's hurting me mentally. I'll never, ever forgive myself for this. It was all my Goddamned idea to come in without backup anyway. I was the one that told her it would be alright, that it'd be fine if we investigated…this guy was supposed to be an idiot. He was supposed to be a dim, stupid, dumbass fuckup that mixed himself up with the wrong crowd, and made the wrong choices. It was supposed to go smoothly…

**BEFORE**

"Jesus, Liv, just go." It's been a long day, and patience is wearing thin. I give her a small shove with my hand, gently urging her to keep moving foreword. This crawlspace is really tiny, and the way she's pressed against me…God, she's gotta get out. We've got to find this guy quick.

"_I can't! I don't know which way, El." She states this in an agitated voice, subtly transitioning her aggravation._

"_Just try the door. If it's unlocked, then go."_

_She reached out and turns the handle. Sure enough, it opens with a swift click. _

_She quickly clambers through the open space, and waits for me on the other side. Her hair is slightly mussed from where it was pressed against my cheek. In any other situation, I'd laugh, but the sheer expression of fear on her face brings the bubbly feeling up short. _

_Her eyes, looking straight ahead, are trained on the asshole we came here to pick up. Fuck. He's been waiting. _

_His gun is pointed straight at Liv, and she's looking down the wrong end. Oh, no. Oh, crap._

"_Liv!" I yell, desperate to get her attention. _

"_Shut up! Shut up and listen to me!" The guy, bigger than he looked in the picture, says with a gruff but sharp voice. _

_Olivia raises her hands above her head. I hastily do the same, because we're both under shock and really, there's nothing else we can do. _

"_Okay, okay, just calm down." Olivia tries one of our many tactics useful when staring down the wrong end of a 9mm. _

_Big Guy barks out a laugh. "Shut up." _

And twenty long minutes later, we'd found ourselves phoneless, gunless, and in a cement cell of a room somewhere in his basement.

**PRESENT**

I lean in, trying to get a clear visual on the piece of metal embedded in her soft flesh. I see a flash of gold, and immediately dive in, scared of losing it again. Olivia's brow is coated in perspiration, and she pants heavily. I hope to God that the whiskey helped her, at least a little. I bite my tongue with the effort to not obey her pleas.

"Unnnhhh…stop, stop…."

"Please, please, no…"

She screams again, and her writing is almost violent.

I suddenly fear that I've done the wrong thing. Goddamnit, what the hell was I thinking? Now there's more blood than ever before, and it's only because I've gone and been an idiot again and prodded at her wound with a pair of fucking tweezers. The crimson red of her blood seeps out in a steady river and pools beside her in a deep red stain. Around the wound, some of her blood has thankfully started to clot, but it looks so horribly painful because now it's a kind of crusty blackish concoction. I resist the urge to vomit. Sure, I've seen much worse, but there is no magical ambulance here, and this is my partner, for crying out loud, this is _Olivia, _and she's dying…

With one hand flat and firm on her stomach, to steady her, and the other poised and carefully holding the tweezers, I fish for that bullet. I feel so incredibly horrid, so unimaginably cruel, to have to do this to her. But in the back of my mind, I know that if I want her to live, I need to eliminate all possibility of infection. I have to remove that bullet.

And Olivia continues to cry, continues to plead with me.

Suddenly, as if my some miracle, the tweezers come in contact with something hard. I hear the scraping sound, the clank that alerts me to the fact that Yes, I've hit the bullet. I've got it, I've got it, I've got it! Thank you God, thank you, it's a miracle.

I carefully (more carefully than I've ever done anything before) clamp both sides of the tweezers around the bullet, holding it securely between the two metal pieces. I can't loose it now that I've found it.

I take a deep, deep breath, and pull.

And pull.

And pull.

Jesus, is it supposed to be this _hard _to yank it out? It is so embedded in her flesh that it doesn't want to let go of her. Christ. Pull, pull, pull….

_Sheeek!_

The sharp, almost hissing noise sounds like scissors cutting through a fresh piece of construction paper sounds, loud in my ear, and then the bullet is there. In the tweezers, in my hand. It's gold, and the tip is bent at an odd angle. The once shiny colour is now tinged a rusty orange, is clamped securely between the tweezers, and I find my knees weak with relief. God, if this had not ended well…

I break into a fresh sweat, just with the happiness that overwhelms me. I'm so relieved, small sounds of something sounding close to laughter emit from deep in my throat.

Olivia's whimpering stops abruptly, the minute I extract the bullet from her. She lies on the table, panting, but she's not screaming and she's not crying as much and maybe, just maybe we're going to get out of here okay. Okay. _Okay._

"Liv…" I stumble up to the front of the table, to where her head is, and brush the damp hair from her forehead. My face close to hers, I whisper reassurances in her ear.

"It's okay. You're okay. We'll get out soon, Liv, just breathe, sweetheart, relax…"

She instinctively turns her face to the sound of my voice, acknowledging my words, and her nose bumps with mine. Her heavy breathing sounds loud in my ears. I smooth my hand over her hair again and again, comforting her. With my other hand, I grab the dishrag and apply it as a damp compress onto her wound. She flinches, but doesn't cry, and maybe it's a step in the right direction.

"Shhhh, Shhhh, I'm here, I'm right beside you, it's okay, it's okay…" I realize that I'm trying to reassure myself as much as her. It's okay. It's okay. She'll be okay. We'll be okay. It is totally out of my control when a tear leaks out of the corner of my eye. It runs in a slight trickle down my cheek, and drops off my chin. It lands on Liv's bottom lip. She doesn't react, though, and I doubt she even felt it. More tears blur my vision now, and I can't believe it, I can't believe it, I just took a bullet out of my partner with a dirty pair of tweezers, but she's okay, she'll be okay, look, look, she's doing better, she's-

"El…"

"I'm here…"

Her breathing slows, and becomes deeper… freer.

"Th…thank you…" Her words are barely a whisper, and I know that she's exhausted.

I gently reach under her, one arm under her shoulders, the other under her knees, and lift her effortlessly off the high table. Turning, I swiftly and gingerly deposit her limp body onto the couch. The cushions creak under her weight, and Olivia sighs at the softness under her back. Good, she's comfortable. Or as comfortable as she can be, hopefully.

"Rest, Liv. Rest, but don't fall asleep, okay?"

"I'm…so tired…"

"I know, I know, but you can't fall asleep, okay? Relax, rest."

"O…kay."

I smile gently at her, and when she relaxes and closes her eyelids, just to rest, I'm glad that that is what she's seen before resting. My smile. Hopefully, she's comfortable.

I sit on the edge of the couch, and my head plunks heavily into my hands.

I sigh, a shaky, very exhausted intake of breath, but suddenly, I'm drowning.

It has come as fast as the relief did, this sudden flash of terror. This vast expanse of dread that overflows my mind and takes over my senses.

Like a bad movie, I'm drowning in images of Olivia, lying there, bleeding, and dying.

Images of myself, impaling her with the tweezers, over and over, sounds of her begging me to stop, please, stop echo in my ears. My vision is blurry, my breath accelerated. My hands shake in my lap, my whole body shakes, I'm numb but it hurts so much…

"Please…stop, El…no…"

The bullet. The gun. The blood. The table, the tweezers, her pleads, my hands.

My hands are covered in her blood.

Olivia's blood. Crimson, hot, coating her stomach, coating my hands.

Olivia almost died.

On the table, right in front of me, Olivia almost died.

In my arms, Olivia almost _died_.

Olivia. Almost. Died.

_Gone._

I jump up, race to the sink, and vomit every single piece of food I have ever eaten.

A/N: Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought! I tried to fit in some more Olivia POV, but I was finding it pretty difficult – obviously I've never been shot, lol. Hope this still worked though, the thing with Elliot's POV. Yes? No? Anyone?


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Ten chapters – Whew! Thanks for all the amazing comments, you guys. I read all of them, and they really do make my day!

I gingerly wipe my mouth with the back of my trembling hand. My breaths are laboured, and despite the fact that the disturbing imagery in my mind has ceased, the nausea and the shaking have yet to end. I swallow hard, battling against my rebellious body, trying to quell the panic and regain control. Turning on the tap in the small basin of a sink, I turn away and lean heavily against the counter. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, while my mind blares 'Wake up! Wake up!' Another deep breath is expelled from my lungs, forcefully.

I had yet to grasp the concept that Olivia came _this close_, and when the realization hit me, it hit me full force. Now, I'm left weak and rugged. I bend over, my head falling somewhere close to between my knees. Safety position. Safety position. Breathe. Breathe.

Breathe.

Minutes pass, and as my body calms, a harsh sentiment of cold raises goose bumps on my forearms. It's really cold in here, now that I've noticed it. Really cold. I just didn't notice before, because the pure adrenaline and purposeful mission of saving my partner had kept me well occupied.

My teeth begin to chatter, and I wonder how this guy ever stayed here. Maybe there's a heat source somewhere, either inaccessible or too hidden for me to find. I'm topless because I had removed Olivia's blood bathed blouse and replaced it with my own shirt, effectively leaving my torso bare. I sigh heavily, and I know that I have to find a way to warm us up. The thermostat in here is definitely turned off, or possible broken, for that matter, and even if it was functioning, I have no idea where to find it. The easiest solution is finding us more layers and more warm things to cover us up with. My mind wanders to the first room we inhabited, down in the basement, the one where Olivia had been trying to escape through the window. She'd been wearing a sweater, I believe, and also a coat, but she had removed them in order to stand on them, as well as the chair, in hopes of reaching the high basement window.

We hadn't had time to grab our shed clothing before we were violently ordered out of the room. That means, our warm late fall clothes are still within the walls of that concrete room. I need to get them, because there is nothing in our captors' closet, and I can see that Olivia's lips have that weir blueish tinge at the corners again. I turn off the tap that was rinsing away my mess, and push myself off the counter. I walk slowly towards Liv, because I don't want to startle her.

Although her eyes are closed, it's not a 'resting' kind of closed. It's more of a 'squeezed shut' kind of closed. Her hand is pressed firmly against the left side of her abdomen, and even though her wound was bleeding considerably more profusely before I removed the bullet, a small stream of blood consistently exerts from the hole in her side. I place my hand over hers, applying more pressure, and she gasps, and opens her eyes.

"El…"

"Right here, Olivia. You're doing great, honey, keep working. I'm so proud of you."

"Elliot…" A frown forms on her face, her eyes squints. Her chest heaves up and down with the force of her breathing. "Am I… going to… die?"

I try to swallow, but there's a big lump somewhere halfway down my throat. I clear it, and brush the hair out of her eyes with my fingers. "No, Liv. No, you're not going to die. You're not going to die."

I'm not sure who I'm trying to convince.

She breathes shallowly, but visibly relaxes at my words. "But it's…bad…right?"

My eyes kind of prickle. "Um…I guess you could say that."

"Why…is it…always…us?" She chuckles feebly.

I smile a forced grin, and it probably comes across as a creepy Grinch face. But I'm trying to make her feel better, so I need to play along.

"Liv? You're cold," I state, feeling her hands and brow.

"El…I'm so…_hot_. It burns…everywhere…"

I know it is just the feeling of being hot, from the wound. She's probably running a fever, but by the feel of her skin I can tell that she's freezing, even if she's not conscious of that fact. Her body needs to be kept warm.

"Olivia? I'm going to go get our coats and stuff, okay? I'll just be gone a minute, alright?"

Her eyes shoot open. "W-what?"

I lean over her so that she can see my face. "I'm going to get your sweater. I'll be right back."

A panicked expression crosses her face. "N-no…No, El…stay."

I smooth my hand through her hair. "It's okay, Olivia. Just relax. It's only for a minute, okay?"

She closes her eyes again, and swallows hard. "O-okay…"

I nod quickly and give her an encouraging smile. "I'll be back before you know it, sweetheart."

She simply nods slightly. I get up from my spot beside her, and trudge quickly over to the door of this dingy 'living space.'

"El?" She calls, when I'm halfway out the door.

"Yeah?"

"Hurry back," she says, slightly out of breath.

"You know it."

I turn and start at a slow run down the hall. It looks the same as it did coming up here, dark and dust, with various clutter scattered all over the edges. Cardboard strips, metal pieces to several different machines, and rusty nails adorn the floor. I jog carefully, avoiding the big messes, but stepping right on the smaller ones. I have no time to waste.

After a while, the straight, long hallway makes a sharp right turn, and I am met with the same landing space where Olivia and I first stayed upon coming up the stairs. I cross it quickly, because this room is familiar and I know its layout. The stairs are directly across from me, on the opposite wall. Wrenching the crappy door out of the way, I propel myself down the steep set of stairs. Adrenaline blurs my senses, and I find that even with this chemical strength, I need to slow down. I push my hand against the wall for support, and slow my steps until I get a steady rhythm going, instead of an uncontrolled, hazardous stumbling. Thump, thump, thump, thump.

When I reach the bottom of the steep, narrow staircase, there is another sharp, right turn. My shoulder comes in harsh contact with the wall ahead because my momentum prevented me from reaching the sharp turn. I push down the slight pain though, because Olivia is scared and alone and cold, and God damnit, I'm freezing too. The sooner we can reach out proper attire, the better.

Down here, in this new series of hallways, it's a total maze. I can only remember the way to the second room we were held in. After that, it's all blind. It's darker here, too. There is no whisper of daylight, because there are no windows. Clutter here has gotten denser, as if this was once a storage area. I have to walk now, because I can't watch my feet and run and try not to trip all at the same time. I've never really been a multi-tasker. I can practically feel the tension and suspense rolling off my body. All my muscles are coiled, ready to jump on any threat. It's kind of like a bad horror movie. Or, a really good one. All I can hear is my footsteps echoing beneath me, and my own laboured breathing.

I feel along the rough wall, slowly but steadily making my way to our 'prison'. Suddenly, my feet catch on something unexpected, something I didn't see. I fall flat on my stomach, cursing loudly as I try to get up on all fours. That hurts that chest, let me tell you. I cough and splutter noisily while I try to regain my winded breath. My ribs feel bruised. I was taken by such surprise that I didn't get a chance to catch myself on my hands. I roll onto my side, and gingerly push myself up, stifling a groan. God, my ribs!

I manage to get back up, and continue my journey to the coats. Soon, I reach the second room where we were kept. As I near the door, I quiet my footsteps, until I am moving almost silently. I remember that the bastard who kept us in here is still lying unconscious in that room. Just to be safe, I approach with caution.

I peer into the room, and stifle a hard gasp.

Our captor is on his feet, blinking rapidly and holding a hand to his head. His hair is mussed, and he's got a blank, dazed expression on his face. Looks like he just woke up a little while ago.

Bastard.

I ball my hands into fists. My endeavour to find the missing coats is quickly set to the back of my mind. I can do that after. Fifteen minutes won't hurt. I can do it later.

This guy tortured us.

This guy shot Olivia.

I caress my left knuckles with my right fingertips, and clench my fists tightly. I feel my heart rate increase, feel my blood boil. My barely contained rage seeps out of my personal, ready to spring. To attack.

This guy tried to kill Olivia.

I'm going to kill _him. _

**A/N: **Reviews make me write faster ;)


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Thanks for your support, everyone. Also, I do live in Canada, so for everyone in the USA, I didn't misspell things like coloUr and favoUrite…it's just the Canadian spelling of them, and my computer has a spaz every time I do it differently. Hope you don't mind ;)

The rage is fantastic. It pounds though me, washing away every sense of reality, a hurricane, wiring every nerve ending, poised for the kill. This feeling of unadulterated anger has always been a high for me. I feel invincible. My body pumps with adrenaline, my muscles clenched, coiled to spring. I can feel the power flowing though my veins.

I take a step into the room, and a sliver of light falls across my face. My jaw is clenched, eyes dangerous. Olivia had told me once that my eyes change colour when I'm angry. She'd pointed out that they become a brighter blue, clear and sparking.

I've been silent, and in his dazed state, our captor has yet to notice me. I don't want to surprise him and get it over with quickly. Not him. He has to suffer. I want him to feel the fear, be possessed by the fear; I want to make him shiver in terror. I stand in my obscured place in front of the doorway, fists at my side, ready to bleed. I watch the poor bastard rub his eyes and shield his face against the slight luminous glow that comes in through the window. He shakes his head once, twice, and inhales deeply. He turns toward the chair where Olivia had been held, and narrows his eyes at its emptiness. That's right, you freak, she's gone. I narrow my own eyes when he advances toward the chair, his pace unsettlingly steady for someone who's just been knocked out. The guy is huge, though, so now that I think about it, it isn't that much of a surprise.

I feel sick to my stomach again when our kidnapper caresses the back of the chair, where Olivia's back had leaned against, and inhales deeply. He inhales again, and touches the seat of the chair, the arms, all the while with a sick, slimy smile on his face. He sighs in a satisfied way, and bends down to kiss the back of the chair.

Okay, so either he's fucked in the head because I pounded his face in, and he thinks Olivia's still there, or he's plain fucked in the head, and has a sick obsession with my partner.

Either way, this bastard is going down. Hard.

"Wondering where she went?" I ask, harshly. My voice is full of the impending threat, and the low rumble would send a shiver up my back.

I can tell he's startled by my presence, worried even, but he hides it well. He straightens up and looks me dead in the eye. He inhales deeply again, and his eyes roll back into his head. "She smells amazing, don't you agree?"

I clench my jaw. Don't pounce. Not yet. Don't.

The guy opens his eyes, and caresses the back of the chair with a slithery touch. "I really hope she's still here somewhere…would've liked to –," he looks at me suggestively, raising an eyebrow and wagging it twice, and running his tongue over his bottom lip. He chuckles once at the way my face reacts, my eyes narrowing, a muscle in my jaw twitching.

He's baiting you. He's clever. Don't fall in his trap. Don't.

I swallow the lump obstructing my airways. I manage to keep my voice even, dangerous. "Have to tie 'em up to get any? That's pathetic," I spit.

I see a splash of anger in his eyes, before he covers it. That's exactly what I want. I want him to take the first swing, so that when he ends up dead, it'll be all on the self-defence.

"I like it that way, they don't fight as much. You should try it. Whatdaya say we bring 'er down here and show her a good time, eh?"

"Nah, tell you what. We're going to stay down here and talk. You and me." I eye him darkly, my voice showing no room for discussion.

He acts like he hasn't heard me, and continues to breathe in her scent and caress the chair. I fight back a shiver.

"What happened here?" He murmurs to himself, crouching down and rubbing his fingers through a puddle of Olivia's blood at the foot of the chair. He coats his fingers, and then brings them to his nose and takes in the scent. He smiles sadistically, and licks his finger.

I almost puke. As prudish as that sounds, seeing him enjoy her blood just…God, it's just disgusting.

"Get. Up." I say, my voice harsh and low. My voice quivers with the danger and the anger.

He looks at me questioningly, and it makes me uncomfortable. It's like he's reading me, figuring out my motives and my feelings. I try to hold my ground, not to shift involuntarily. It's hard, but I manage to keep both feet planted. He's still staring at me intently, though, and it's beginning to get really creepy.

Suddenly, his eyes snap to mine, and a slow, sinister smile forms on his face. "You love her."

I say nothing. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't, because my voice is stuck somewhere in the back of my throat.

He smiles his menacing smirk, and runs his index finger over his bottom lip. "Yes. Yes, that's it. You love her." He chuckles once. "Nice piece of ass she is, that one, don't you think?" He laughs, a short cackle, and it makes shivers run all the way down my back into my feet and into the ground. My hands tremble in pure anger at hearing him disrespect Olivia that way. My breathing becomes more rapid, and I can feel the colour slowly flooding my face.

It takes me a second to realize that, past my rage, he is still talking. "…Wouldn't 've taken much, I suppose, to pick her up and slam her onto the table…so weak already…I shouldn't have waited." His voice is soft and sinister, and the way he stares at me, his green eyes piercing me, I know that he's got the upper hand right now. Damn it. Damn it to hell. That was not my plan.

"…Such soft skin, I wonder – is she like that everywhere? I would have made her scream…. she'd have screamed louder than all the rest, that one, when I bent her over and made her submit -,"

"Stop." My voice shakes, my hands tremble, and my pulse beats violently throughout my body. He's baiting you. He's baiting you. Don't react, don't react.

"Would've liked it, too. Would've begged me…her eyes…how they'd have glistened when -,"

"Shut. Up."

"…I can imagine her pressed to tightly against me -,"

"I SAID SHUT UP!" I roar, and suddenly, as if I didn't command it to, my body is springing forwards, my hands reaching out, my legs striding quickly to the centre of the room, where he's standing. I tense, ready for the impact, and then throw a punch, as hard as I can muster. It hits him right in the nose, blood spurting every which way, splattering onto me. I raise my fist again, and bring it down hard on his face, crushing, bruising, bloodying, again and again and again. He's on the ground, and every time he struggles to get to his feet, I bring my fist to his cheek. Again, again, again. My hands hurt, my knuckles sting, and I can feel the cramp all the way to my shoulder, but under no circumstances can I stop. All I can see, all I am aware of, is him, is his face, and all I know is that I must destroy it. Nothing can appease the rage coursing through me.

He takes me by surprise when he swings his legs around on the ground, kicking me below my knees, swiping my feet clean out from under me. It's like when I'm standing on a carpet and Dickie thinks it's funny to pull it. I fall to the cement floor on to my back, with a heavy thump and a gasp for air. He takes full advantage of my surprise, of the fact that the wind is good and truly knocked out of me, and raises to his hands and knees, blood pouring in a steady flow from his nose and cuts on his cheek. He's breathing so laboriously that he's making grunting sounds at every intake of air, and while I lie there on my back, stunned, trying to figure out how I got on the floor in the first place, he grabs the chair and shakily gets to his feet. I have a good view of the ceiling, obstructed when I see the sole of his black shoe hovering over me. I have about three seconds the think 'Ah, shit,' before the shoe is brought down, right onto my face.

"Fuck!" I exclaim loudly, and roll over onto my side, facing away from him, shielding myself from the next blow. "Arh!" I can feel the warmth running down my face, into my mouth, and it's a disgusting, rusty taste. Bastard got me in the nose. My eyes tear up, an involuntary reaction to my nose injury.

I roll onto my stomach and push myself up on my wobbly hands and knees. Lifting my head, I can see him, breathing heavily, standing next to the chair. All that is in my line of vision is his legs. I charge at him on my hands and knees like a train, and crash into him, taking him down to the ground. He fights, claws at my forearms, at my face, drawing blood. Grunts and gasps and curse words are loud, and I don't know which ones are mind and which ones are his anymore. He gets in a couple of lucky punches, I get in a few as well. Finally, my wrist manages to escape his iron grasp and my hand closes around his throat. Tightly. His gasps for breath cut off immediately, his eyes widen in shock. His own hands cover mine, and his nails dig painfully into my flesh.

"Don't you ever talk about her like that again! Never! You hear me? Huh?" He doesn't answer, and I tighten my hand even more, pressing him into the ground. "Do you _hear _me?"

He makes a satisfying squeaking noise.

"Apologize. _Now_."

He coughs and splutters. "Fuck -,"

"Wrong answer!" I lean in close of him, my body pinning his, and tighten my hold on his neck again. "Apologize."

He looks at me defiantly for a moment, and then decides that his life is actually worth a shit. "S-," he coughs, "Sorry…"

I barely give him time to get the full word out. "Phones?" I eye him threateningly. He just stares up at me. I press him down again. "_Phones_?"

"In the closet in the living space."

"You lie." I spit in his face. "Don't fuck with me."

"I-In th-the" he coughs again; I ease up, just a tiny bit. "Bucket…under the s-sink. There's a – a cell phone."

"That's better."

I lean in as close as I can, and whisper in his ear. "I'm a marine. I'm going to put you in a sleeper hold, and by the time you wake up, there'll be cops all over this place." I smile at him, just like he smiled at me when he was taunting me. "I'll be sure to pay you a special visit once you're in prison."

I squeeze the two pressure points in his neck, just hard enough to knock him out. His eyes shut; I retrieve the restraints from the chair and bind his wrists and his ankles. Maybe a bit tighter than necessary. If he has a cut off blood circulation, all the better. Teach him a lesson for talking about Olivia like that. I grab his feet and pull him into the corner of the room, facing the wall, and also bind him to a considerably sturdy looking water pipe that runs along the wall. Sweat runs down my face and mingles with the blood that is also present; it's smell and taste sharp and gross in my mouth. I turn and spit out a mouthful of blood onto the floor.

I've got no time to lose. Although Olivia looked like she was doing better, her condition can change at the drop of a hat. I down the hall, in the direction, hopefully, of our discarded coats.

I thank God when I see the obtuse object kicked off to the side; it is the thing I nearly tripped over on our way to the other room, earlier, when we were moved out of the old room. That means I'm in the right hallway. The door should be right at the end of this hall…

Yes. Yeah, it's here. Right here, I've found it. The door is firm iron, but it is held slightly ajar. I slam the door open, and it bounces on it's hinges. I take three strides to the chair under the window, grabbing Olivia's sweater and coat off the chair, and then move to the back of the room to collect my own. After hastily throwing on my sweater, I frantically begin the trek back to the living space. It is imperative that I get back to Olivia as soon as possible. I'm going to see Liv again. I'll get to reassure her, _be _reassured by her presence, I'll get to talk to her, touch her, help her.

My head pounds, my vision slightly fuzzy. My wrists and shoulders throb in time with my pulse, and my battered knuckles are stinging from their recent abuse. My nose bleeds freely, dripping down onto my sweater's front. I'll be bruised, and my neck has a cramp like I've never felt before. Despite all of this, a smile pulls at the corner of my mouth as I make my way back to my partner, because we've just been given a huge advantage.

I know where the phone is. I know where the phone is! I can call for help, call for an ambulance. The bastard who held us prisoner and shot Olivia is subdued, tied tightly so that when Fin and Much pick him up, he'll still be there. He's going to jail.

I have a phone. Help for Liv is just one call away.

We may actually make it out of this mess.

A/N: So…yeah. I don't know. The whole fight scene? I'm kinda biting my nails because I'm not sure about it. Hopefully, it lived up. Yes? No? let me knoooooow! Lol.


	12. Chapter 12

BEFORE

_We've just come out of the tightly enclosed tunnel. We've just been taken by surprise by the guy we came here to arrest. _

"_Keep your hands where I can see them. And don't try anything." His voice is hard, pointed, like nails. It has a rustiness, too. It scrapes along his throat and its harshness is reflected in his eyes._

_I glance at Elliot, and he mirrors me. We stand in the classic defensive stance, our arms raised above our heads, and we're both staring down the wrong end of this gun. Elliot's eyes dart to mine, and I give him a split second gaze of calmness, of reassurance, before my glance hardens and I shoot daggers at him. I told him we should have called for the stupid backup. I told him that Cragen should know, that we should have waited, that it wasn't an emergency. But he's so god damned stubborn and when he's on a mission, there's no one that can deter him. Elliot Stabler was never one to take no for an answer. _

_And really, I don't blame him. I want to, the anger is there, front and centre, dominating my senses and my thoughts, and my will to protect myself from the sheer horror at the thought that I've let myself get in this situation in the first place. I need to direct my anger away from myself, so that I can think clearly, and my partner has always been so easy to get mad at. _

"_Come here," says the guy with the gun, making a sharp gesture at me with his free arm. _

"_Like hell," Elliot replies, in a snarl. _

"_El -," I say, because please Elliot, please don't piss him off. _

"_Both of you shut up," He smiles when we fall silent, and then points at me again. "You. Come here."_

_Elliot makes a sound of protest from beside me, and I glare at him as I pass, hoping that my eyes relay the message: Now is no time for heroics. _

_I step forward slowly, one foot carefully ahead of the other amongst the debris that's scattered all over the floor, and I make sure to keep my hands on my head. All I can hear is the pounding of my own heartbeat, and my breaths are amplified to fill my ears. When I reach him, the guy pulls harshly on my arm and twists it sharply behind my back, in a practised, perfected, disabling move. I flinch and bite my lip, squeezing my eyes shut as I arch my back, trying not to make any sound. I can hear more than see Elliot curse and take a step forward. _

"_Get back!" The man behind me shouts to Elliot, and he pulls me against him, hard. The air escapes my lungs in a gasp at the sudden contact. My arm is still bent at the unforgiving, painful angle, and I really need to move sometime soon. _

_He grasps my other wrist; the one that is still on my head, and also pulls it behind me, yanking it up once it's behind my back. I exhale harshly, a small sound escaping my mouth. Elliot's face turns bright red, and the muscles in his jaw pop. _

_I freeze when I feel the guy behind me feeling along my belt. My heart drops to my stomach, and a whoosh of cold dread washes over me. I lock my eyes to Elliot's, not even trying to hide my panic. This is not it. This is __**not **__it. _

_His fingertips slip into the waistband of my jeans, and he runs his hand from my front to my back, caressing the skin. I shiver, and I can feel myself trembling. My arms ache so much from the hold he has. I feel his mouth on my nape, his breath disturbing the fine hairs that are there. He takes my earlobe into his mouth and bites. I fail to hide my cry of pain, this time. The guy just laughs, while Elliot looks like he's about to murder someone. _

_Suddenly, he removes his filthy hands from my pants, and grabs the small case that is clipped to my belt, the one that contains my handcuffs. No. No, no, no, no, no._

"_Liv!" Elliot calls my name, and my eyes snap back to his, frantic and fearful. "Liv. Olivia," And I know he's trying to find something reassuring to say, something comforting and distracting, if what we think is happening is actually about to take place. _

_I bite down on my bottom lip, hard, when I feel the cold steel of the cuffs close tightly around my wrists. He drops my arms, and I moan with the release. The joints in my shoulders protest, and there is an ache that passes from my elbows to the base of my neck. He roughly unclips my gun, and throws it aside, into a pile of junk, out of sight. _

_To my surprise, the guy pushes me, roughly, and walks away from me. Because of the force of his push and the fact that my arms are restrained, I fall and land heavily on my side, my shoulder crunching. I pant and look up quickly to see that he's got the gun trained on Elliot, advancing on him._

"_Don't fucking touch me," Elliot warns, his voice hard, his eyes dark with threat. _

_The guy chuckles once, humourlessly. "You're not really in any position to be making orders, detective."_

_Elliot glares at him. The big guy forces Elliot to turn around, and uses El's cuffs to disable my partner as well. He's much quicker about it, but doesn't seem to take half as much interest in causing him physical and mental discomfort. It's like I'm the focus of his attention, and Elliot is the inconvenience, the thing that's there in the way, a pylon. _

_He cuffs Elliot tightly though, and when he unclips his gun and throws it away, he jabs Elliot in the lower spine with his elbow. Elliot grunts but is otherwise silent. _

_There's no way I'm going to be able to get up, with my hands behind my back, and my shoulders sore. I wriggle on the cement, trying to lift myself to my feet, but to no avail. The guy pushes Elliot forward and then walks over to me, bending in close and patting my cheek three times before grabbing my elbow and hauling me to my feet. He keeps a steel grip on my arm, and with his other hand, points the gun at Elliot. _

"_Get walking."_

AFTER

"Olivia!" I burst into the room, coats slung over my arm, out of breath. "Liv, what the hell are you doing?"

Olivia is off the couch, not resting like I told her, and she's doing the crawl-slump-roll-limp across the floor, smudging a trail of red behind her. I race to her, and drop heavily onto my knees in front of her. She doesn't seem to be aware that I'm there, she's got her eyes screwed up and she's mumbling a string of words that I can't make out.

"Olivia?" I ask, more quietly, cautiously reaching out and putting my hand on her shoulder.

"No!" She screams, and her voice is scratchy like parchment but it's still loud and shrill. She tenses and jerks away from me, letting out a yelp when she tumbles from her hands and knees onto her side.

I breathe erratically, and I'm so confused right now it's scary.

"No, no, no…Elliot…where's Elliot…I want…Elliot…El, come back…unnhh, please,"

The heat of dread flushes through my face when I realize that she's so delirious due to her condition that she doesn't recognize me, and she's forgotten that I told her where I was going. God, all she probably knows right now is that she's shot, and her partner has disappeared, and she doesn't know where, and she's alone with a pervert in the surrounding area. She must be so scared. She must have tried to find me.

I slowly reach to her again, keeping my hands palm up, advancing slowly.

"It's me, Liv. It's El," I say reassuringly, rubbing my hand up her arm gently. She's shaking so much, and tears leak from her eyes. She's mumbling again, and I can't quite understand what she's saying. "Help's coming, okay?"

She doesn't say anything coherent in response. I steady myself on my knees, and reach under her, ignoring her cries, her obvious fear, as I slip my hands under her body. She starts to thrash with a strength I didn't think she possessed.

"No! No! Let go! No, Please!" She shrieks, and I have to lean my head back to avoid her thrashing. I pick her up easily though, because Olivia isn't very heavy, and I put her down gently on the couch. In this more comfortable position, Olivia relaxes a little, but her breathing is still frantic, and she's sweating now too, but her skin is still so cold. I realize that if I don't get that cell phone right now, my partner will die. I take her coat and sweater and tuck them tightly around her, stilling her movements, and burying her in the warmth of her clothes. She's still crying and mumbling, but it's sleepier now, less panicked. I don't at all think that she's in her right mind, though, her dilated pupils and incoherentness are clues that suggest that she's gone a little bit temporarily mad with the pain of her wound.

After making sure she's comfortable, I hurry to the cupboard under the sink. There's a metal pail there, with some junk in it, but when I spill all of the contents carelessly onto the floor, I spot the cell phone. I grab it quickly, my heart thumping.

I flip it open, glad that it's the old kind of technology, like my phone, because the newer versions are harder than anything to figure out. Olivia's got this one that slides open to reveal a keyboard, and I can't, for the life of me, work it. I punch in 911, and then hit the green button.

One ring.

Two rings.

"911 what's your emergency?"

My speech is stuck in my throat, somewhere below the huge lump that is forced there.

"Hello? 911 what's your emergency?"

I cough, and then catch my breath. "This is Detective Stabler, special victims, we need an ambulance, now! I- I think she's going to die –_my partner will die_, if she doesn't get to a hospital now - we're in a warehouse – it's 56th and Green – please, hurry -,"

"Detective, stay calm. What is the state of the victim?"

"Uh, she's been shot – about two, two and a half hours ago – she bleeding, I removed the bullet, but she's getting weaker. _Send an ambulance_!" I yell frantically into the phone.

"Detective, the ambulance is on its way. Hold tight while we get there. Now, I need you to listen, can you do that?"

"Yeah. Yeah." I say, my breaths erratic, my heartbeat loud. I think I may be having a panic attack.

"Good. Take three deep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth."

"I don't have time for this shi -,"

"You being panicked won't help her. Do what I say, please."

I comply, and feel my body relax.

"Okay, now, go to her," says the operator. "Go and sit by her head."

I walk to Olivia and sit by her head, on the edge of the couch. "Okay," I say.

"Alright. Now, can she see you? Does she recognize you?"

"Liv?" I whisper, brushing the hair out of her eyes. "Liv, it's El."

Olivia continues to toss her head from side to side, trying to get away from my hand.

"Operator, she's really out of it – she's scared of me –," I choke on my words, _Olivia is scared of me_, and try to continue, "She's scared…"

"Hold her hand and keep talking to her, whatever you do, don't leave her."

Oh, God. I close my eyes. Leaving her is the worst thing I can do. And I've already done it.

"Okay, detective? Can you do that?"

"Yes," I say shakily, and grasp Olivia's hand tightly in mine. Maybe she recognizes my touch, because as soon as my warm palm is placed in her cold one, she tightens her hold around my fingers and gasps for breath. I hope she knows it's me, and that she's going to be safe soon.

"Alright. Good. You're doing fine, Detective. Keep talking to her, and sit tight until the ambulance gets there, okay?"

"Yeah," I choke out. "Thank you. Hurry."

"We'll be there."

I snap the phone shut, and lean over Olivia so that she can see my face.

"El, El, El…" She whispers, barely audible. Her eyes are slightly crossed, dazed, and her movements are spastic and disoriented.

"Yeah, Liv, it's me. I'm right here, okay?" I squeeze her hand. "Right here. You're going to be fine. The ambulance is on its way, sweetheart, hold on. Stay with me Liv, help's coming darling."

A/N: Penny for your thoughts?


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: It's been a while, and I'm sorry.

We've been sitting for a good several minutes when her eyes blink shut. I feel the limp grip her hand has on mine go slack, and she exhales a little breath of air from her cracked lips. I look down at her and take in her chalky appearance, her unresponsiveness.

"Liv! No, no, you can't. You can't. We're so close, you gotta stay with me now." I sprawl a hand on her chest and shake her gently but firmly, her silky hair falling across her face. "Olivia!"

Her eyelids shudder, but don't open, and her hand doesn't respond to my reviving squeezes. I bend over her and position my ear right by her lips. The relief washing through me is almost painful in its greatness when I feel her weak, warm breathing hit the side of my face.

Shaking her a few more times amounts to nothing, and I know she has finally succumbed to the pull of unconsciousness. She's been battling against it for the last several hours, and her mind, in order to shield itself from the intense pain, has shut down. Trying to rouse her is for naught, and I don't want to push it because she's already so weak that waking up may just suck all the remaining energy from her. So instead, I sit on the crappy couch beside her, and stroke her hair and hold her hand, in case there is a small section of her brain that recognizes my touch, is comforted by it.

And as suddenly as all of this spun out of control, the emotion springs to my heart, tugging, pulling, and taking. Each whimper, every cry of pain my partner uttered today has taken a piece of my heart, shattered the moment that gun was fired. Her pain has entered me, suffocating me in its immeasurable power, and has taken pieces of my soul, my heart, for its own. The emotional pain surmounts everything I've ever previously felt, and the terror of losing her, the guilt of knowing this is all my fault gathers in a chokingly large lump and blocks my throat. The warmth of tears heat and irritate my face as I watch hers, peaceful in her state of unawareness.

It's my fault. It's all my fault that she's almost dead. I'm the one that forced her to come here, without backup. I told her to trust me, to listen, and she came because it is her duty to protect my back no matter what. She's usually right, for God sakes, why didn't I just get my head out of my ass and hear her? Why didn't I just stop for a minute, and understand her? Understand that as a cop, operations can never, ever be rushed, and that caution is the number one principle?

I am tugged abruptly out of my thoughts when the shrill wail of sirens reach my ears. I hurriedly swipe my face with my sleeve, clearing my vision of the tears. I sniffle like a little boy, and let out a choked sob of relief at the sound. For my entire life, the sound of sirens has sent a chill down my spine, has been the bearer of the worst news, but today, in light of everything, it is the most beautiful sound I have ever heard.

"Liv?" I whisper feverishly, "Liv, they're here." I choke out another relieved sob that comes out a half-laugh, "Olivia, help is here," I shake her in my excitement, my sheer joy, and again her eyelids tremble but do not open.

The sirens continue to get closer, louder, until their sound can be hear just across the wall. "Here!" I yell, my voice hoarse. "HERE!"

And it's really all a blur then. The emergency medical team rushes in, and it is like being in a cloudy dream when I am pushed off the couch, out of the way. Confused and tired and quite hungry, I trip over my own feet, heading face first for the table. I nearly miss catching myself. Another EMT approaches me, and, with a hand on my shoulder, forces me into a nearby chair. I know, I _know _he's trying to talk to me, probably checking my lucidness, but all of my attention is focused on Olivia and the swarm of EMT's surrounding her, frantic movements and calm expressions. I crane my neck to the side, trying to see around the man in front of me, to see my partner, but the man keeps moving with me, trying to get my attention.

"What?" I ask, irritated, because I can hear Olivia coming to, and she doesn't sound good, and the EMT's don't sound at all happy with her condition.

"Sir, please look at me," the young man asks firmly, finally making eye contact with me. And his face is youthful but experienced, his gaze honest and calm. His eyes are green, and they hold a sense of control and sureness, and just looking at him, my heart rate slows. His eyes convey how much he knows, how much he understands, and how much he wants to help. I know I can trust this man. I know it. And then I'm sent reeling again because I've got no idea about the guys checking out Olivia. Are they good at their jobs? Do they know what the hell they're doing? It's going to take the best of the best to save her, and what if – what if it's some newbie who's trying to prove himself? What if Olivia-

"Detective, breathe. She's in good hands. I trust my men."

"Olivia –,"

"Sir, stop." The man tries to stop me from getting out of the chair.

"Liv!"

"Detective, sit down," and now I'm getting irritated, I trust this man, but I can't rest until I'm with Olivia.

"Please, I need to be with her. LIV!" I haul myself from my chair and walk quickly over to the mob of medics surrounding her, not really caring that I've pushed the other man away from me.

I push myself through an opening in the circle surrounding her, and I see that they've now loaded her onto a stretcher, wasting no time. I go to her quickly, because her eyes are open and although she has a calm expression, her eyes give her away. It is a look in her eyes that only I know, the look she gives when she is scared shitless.

I pick up her hand, gripping tightly. "Olivia?" I tip her chin toward my face, and her terrified expression locks onto mine. "It's okay. I promise you, everything is okay. We're going to the hospital now. I'm right here with you, okay?"

She says nothing, to weak to talk, but her eyes become less frantic and her breathing relaxes. Her hand is holding mine now too, weakly, but still.

A tear escapes the corner of her eye as she lies on the stretcher, running down her temple and into her matted hair.

"Hey, hey," I soothe, wiping it away. "No, Olivia. Don't cry." I rub her temple gently with my thumb. "You're fine. Don't worry. No tears, baby."

Another tear is quick to follow, its salty warmth hitting my thumb. And another, and another, and her eyes slide closed again. She slips into unconsciousness listening to the sound of me comforting her.

The medical team rolls her out of the building, and we are met with the pounding and harshness of a cold rain. The drops splash on Olivia's pale forehead. We head to the ambulance, I trot beside her, her hand in mine. I spot several cops heading into the building, to apprehend the suspect locked in the basement.

They load her into the ambulance, and I insist that I'm fine, demand to ride along, and climb in after her. I sit on the hard plastic bench beside her stretcher, leaning over her. The medics work on her, starting up and IV right away, and hooking her to a heart monitor. They remove her shirt (actually, it's mine) with scissors, and immediately apply thick temporary bandaging to stop the bleeding from her ugly wound.

At one point on the long trip to the hospital, she regains consciousness, and the medics are all over her, asking her questions and pushing her and pulling at her, all demanding her attention.

"Hey!" I yell, getting up from my seat and getting in their faces. My glare is so cold, nothing could compare. "Back off."

The medic glares back, like he knew I was going to cause trouble. "Detective, I'm going to have to ask you to-,"

"Can't you see you're scaring her? I said back _off_." I turn to Olivia and my tone changes instantly, and I'm trying to get her to slow her frantic breathing and I hope to God she knows what's going on. But by the expression on her face, I can tell that she's far past reason, that she's totally delusional. She probably knows it is me, and that's a comfort, but she's probably got no idea why she's here, feeling so overwhelmed and scared.

Suddenly, her body convulses, and her torso bucks of the stretcher weakly, before she makes a small, disturbed choking noise. Her eyes widen in fear and her pale face is tinged with red.

"Move!" The medic demands, pushing me back to the bench. "Will, she's vomiting!" He yells to his partner. I don't fight him this time, because Olivia continues to convulse and choke, and the medic, although hurried, works with tender hands and looks like he knows exactly what he's doing.

Will rushes to get behind her and braces himself against the stretcher with his knees. He lifts Olivia with an arm behind her shoulders, and the other medic simultaneously holds a sterile pail under her chin. They wait patiently for her to be finished. Finally, she slumps back against Will, wheezing weakly, and her eyes close again. Her head falls to the side, falling against Will's bicep. My hand still clutches hers tightly. She is so cold.

Will shoots his partner a worried glance, it is fleeting, but I catch it.

"What?" I ask, desperately, squeezing Liv's hand and pleading with the medic. "What is it? What's going on?"


End file.
